


a delicate arrangement

by Jelly



Series: delicate [1]
Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, F/M, Gen, yeah i know right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2019-11-09 03:53:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 54,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17994344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jelly/pseuds/Jelly
Summary: It’s not that it’s a bad idea. In all honesty, Ezran thinks it’s a well thought-out, completely reasonable, perfectly sound idea that could solve a lot of his own problems, Callum’s problems, and Katolis’ problems, in one fell swoop - if it works, that is. It’s a little risky, he’ll admit, but it’s not the same as, say, running away from home at ten years old with his brother and a Moonshadow elf assassin (whose mission was to kill him, mind) to return a dragon egg in the midst of a centuries-long war, and hey, they’d managed that all right. Compared to that mess, politics should be easy, right?Right?[Or, the Arranged Marriage Rayllum Romantic Drama no one asked for]COMPLETED!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There are still a ton of requests in my inbox on tumblr and there was this weird thing I noticed where like 8 of them could fit conveniently into the same post-war fic, and I haven't written a multichapter in a long while, so apart from the fact that I have no self-control - Two Birds: Meet One Stone! I should probably also add that **this is completely unrelated to wholesome truths** bc this story requires our big dumb human and our equally dumb elf to pine for each other and they kinda don't in that series bc they already know everything there is to know.
> 
>  
> 
> Anyway yeah, no one asked for this, I'm just having fun. Enjoy!!

i.

 

It’s not that it’s a bad idea. In all honesty, Ezran thinks it’s a well thought-out, completely reasonable, perfectly sound idea that could solve a lot of his own problems, Callum’s problems, and Katolis’ problems, in one fell swoop - if it works, that is. It’s a little risky, he’ll admit, but it’s not the same as, say, running away from home at ten years old with his brother and a Moonshadow elf assassin (whose mission was to kill _him_ , mind) to return a dragon egg in the midst of a centuries-long war, and hey, they’d managed that all right. Compared to _that_ mess, politics should be easy, right?

Right?

Ezran wrinkles his nose. The light in his father’s study - _his_ study, he reminds himself - is dim. It’s probably terrible for his eyes to be writing such a lengthy letter by candlelight, but it’s the one place his Crownguard won’t follow him and he needs the privacy. Three years ago, when he’d taken his place on the Katolan throne, he’d always assumed that the aftermath of a war would be easier than the war itself, but there are wounds on both sides that, even now, people can’t seem to let go. Back then, it had sounded easy - Callum and Rayla would return Zym to his mother, and the act of a human prince returning the heir to the dragon throne would bring peace. The end. But pig-headedness was, and still is, heavy on both sides of the border. There’s so much prejudice between elves and humans that, even now, negotiations are slow and treaties signings are stilted. Heck, it’s been three years, and the soldiers on his Crownguard _still_ watch _Rayla,_ wary and apprehensive of her every move.

Rayla, for her part, takes it maturely and lets their bigotry run off her like water off a duck. She’s been travelling with Callum the whole time, mediating treaties and negotiations with him as an example of the friendship that _could_ be. They visit often enough, and one would _think_ that, if his guards pulled their heads out of their butts, they might notice the way Callum and Rayla treat each other - that is, with _trust,_ and _respect._ Callum’s a powerful archmage now, and while she’s technically not one anymore, Rayla’s still a trained assassin. If they were mad enough and they wanted to, Ezran has no doubts that they would be capable of seriously hurting each other _and more_ , but the point is that _they don’t._ They have their arguments sometimes, sure, but on the whole, they’re _friends,_ who care deeply for each other and take care of each other the way friends should.

The way their people should.

The idea had hit him the last time they were here. They’d been sparring in the courtyard, which Ezran remembers thinking was weird, because he’s known Callum all his life, and even when it was a _requirement_ to learn how to fight, he’d been terrible at it. Now, all of a sudden, he was happy and eager? He’d had to see it.

Callum’s eighteen now. He’s still scrawny by eighteen year old standards, but he’s grown taller than Rayla (horns don't count, he remembers thinking inwardly; she has to look up to meet his eyes now) - something Ezran hadn’t noticed until Rayla put one of her blades in his hand that day. She’d given him this _look_ that was a little like a smirk mixed with something else, something… _coy_. Callum’s own smile was more eager than it was anything else, but that same energy was there.

“ _No_ magic,” she’d said, holding her blade at the ready.

Callum had smirked back, flicking the blade in his hand into its hook form with a deft surety that Ezran didn’t think he’d ever even had. “I won’t need it,” he’d said, his voice smug, _flirty_.

Ezran remembers the way he’d blinked; the realization that had dawned on him when Callum and Rayla had charged at each other with identical grins; the “ _Oh_ ,” that had formed on his lips as they taunted each other in mid-spar.

He’d cornered Callum about it afterwards. He’d waited for Rayla to leave first, but he caught the way his brother watched her hips sway as she sauntered back into the keep; saw the soft little smile that lifted the corners of his lips; recognized the look in his eye as the same one from the days he used to pine after Claudia.

Ezran honestly thinks it’s outrageous he hadn’t noticed earlier.

“So… how long have you and Rayla been a thing?” he’d asked him, smirking.

Callum had frowned at him and dabbed at the sweat on his brow. “What do you mean ‘a thing’?”

To this day, Ezran remembers how carefully he’d considered his next words. “How long have you two been _in love with each other_?”

Thinking about it now, it’s hilarious, but at the time, Callum’s reaction was such a mess that Ezran had to wonder whether his brother thought he could pull one over on him, or if Callum was genuinely just _that_ clueless. “ _Whaaaaat?_ ” Callum had said, ears going bright red beneath his mop of brown hair. “In - in _love_ \- Ez, come on, don’t be ridiculous.”

Now, Ezran’s young, but he’s not an idiot. He’d pressed his lips together like he was trying to hold back a laugh and said, “Are you being serious?”

“I don’t - I don’t know where you’d even get the idea,” Callum had sputtered, looking everywhere, Ezran had noticed, but at him. “I - I should go wash up! Yeah, I’m - I’m gonna do that sooo… I’ll see you at dinner?” He didn’t wait for an answer; rather, he half-walked, half-ran back into the keep leaving Ezran smirking after him in the courtyard.

That was six weeks ago.

They’d come to mediate a meeting between the Council and an emissary of Earthblood elves regarding a mining operation, and literally the following day, Ezran had almost introduced his forehead to the table mid-meeting while the Katolian Council and the Earthblood elves talked and shouted over themselves in an attempt to do _anything_ but actually listen to each other.

If only there was a way to show them that peace between both parties was possible, Ezran remembers thinking. If only there was an example of a peaceful union between elves and humans that he could shove in their stupid, stubborn faces.

He’d caught sight of Callum and Rayla, then. Caught the way they looked just as frustrated as he did, but, more importantly, caught the way they stood _together_ , elbows bumping accidentally-on-purpose; whispering jokes to each other to ease the tension in each other’s backs and trying to keep straight faces over the din.

_If only there was an example of a peaceful union between elves and humans that he could shove in their stupid, stubborn faces._

No, Ezran had thought. No. He couldn’t ask them to do that. That would be dumb. That would be ridiculous. That would be -

Honestly not that different from what they’re doing already.

He rolls up his letter, rests his quill in its ink pot, and stares at his father’s - at _his_ seal - for the longest time before he drips red wax on the edge of the parchment. He and Callum were both young when they came to understand that they, as the royal family of Katolis, would never have the luxury of marrying for love; that their eventual marriages would most likely be arranged to form convenient alliances - but, if Ezran plays his cards right, he might just find a way to make sure his brother gets both.

 

x

 

The letter finds Callum in Neolandia while he and Rayla are sitting in the courtyard with a couple of curious kids.

They’ve never seen an elf before, and Callum can’t help the little smile that tugs at his features as Rayla lets them examine her hands and her horns and her ears. She’s all smiles and giggles as the little girl braids her hair, and as her toddler of a brother sits happily in her lap and counts her fingers, and he thinks, later, if he’s got the time, he might draw it. Their meeting isn’t until tomorrow, and he imagines it’ll be full of yelling and arguing as always, so he’s reluctant to disturb her now, while she’s content and relaxed.

He thanks the messenger quietly and grins at the seal. He and Ezran try to keep each other posted as best they can, but it’s hard when Ezran is a king and he’s an ambassador. Usually, he can expect a letter once every couple of months, and they’d just been to see him a few weeks ago for that negotiation about mining options, so this is a pleasant surprise.

He skims over Ezran’s untidy scrawl, chuckling a little at the splodge of ink at the bottom that’s supposed to be Bait’s signature, and feels his brow furrow as he backtracks and reads the final line again.

_I need a favour from you guys. Can you come back to Katolis after your thing in Neolandia? It’s important._

“You’re making a face.”

He glances up to find Rayla watching him over her shoulder. She tucks her new braid behind her ear and shifts her weight a little, careful not to disturb the little boy playing with her fingers. “Am I?”

She nods at the letter. “Is everything okay with Ez?”

“Oh,” says Callum. He grins to reassure her. Ezran’s like a brother to her now too, after all. “He’s fine, I think. He wants us to come back to Katolis after the treaty signing tomorrow.”

“So soon?” asks Rayla. Her face falls as a woman with the same blonde hair as the little girl at her side stamps towards them, looking like she can’t decide if she’s stern or nervous at the idea of her children playing with an elf. Rayla eases the little boy from her lap and points a finger at his mother. “Time to go back to mum now, little ones,” she says. “Bye!”

“But we’re still playing!” whines the little girl, but Rayla chuckles and jerks her head at her mother.

“We’ll play again when we visit next time,” she promises. “Go on now. Don’t want mum to be mad.”

The little girl sulks, but she takes her brother’s hand and trudges back. Their mother lifts the boy to her chest and seizes the girl's wrist, casting a disapproving glance at Rayla as she goes, but Rayla shrugs it off and gets up.

Callum’s frowning after them when she takes a seat on the bench. “That was rude.”

“Eh well, they can’t all be like you.” She elbows him playfully. “We can head straight back to Katolis after the signing,” she adds. “It’s no problem. We need to head back to Xadia soon anyway. It’s on the way.”

“Yeah,” says Callum. He’s still frowning, but Rayla elbows him once more and prods his cheek.

“It’s not a big deal,” she says. “I’m not offended. You shouldn’t be on my behalf.” She takes the letter from him and squints at Ezran’s handwriting. “I wonder what could be so important that he wants us back so soon.”

“You and me both.” Callum shakes his head. “Guess we’ll find out.”

Rayla makes a face at him. “Come off it, Callum,” she says, patting his knee. “It’s a nice day. We’re going to see Ezran again in a couple of days. Don’t let one thing get you down, hey?”

“How do you deal with it?” he asks her. “Those kids have no problem with you, why should anyone else?”

“You get much worse than me whenever we’re in Xadia,” she points out. “And you always tell me not to worry about it. I’m asking you to do the same thing now. It’s nothing, don’t let it get you down. Okay?” She offers him a smile, and when he looks into her face, Callum finds his mood lightening little by little.

It’s been three years. She’s grown a little; her hair is longer now, her cheeks, leaner, but her eyes and her smile are both the same. They put his mind at ease, and he squeezes her hand gently and allows the anger to leave his system in a rush. “You’re right,” he says at last.

She laughs. “Aren’t I always?”

She is, he thinks. But he doesn’t tell her that.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s not that he thinks they’d react badly to his proposition. It’s that he doesn’t know how they might react at all.

ii.

  


They arrive in Katolis within the week.

They’ve come and gone often enough that the guards at the city gates know her by face now. They bow to Callum, and while their jaws are set and their eyes are hard, they offer Rayla a stiff nod. She nods back - she’s been greeted in worse ways, after all, so ultimately she can’t complain - before the gates swing open with a great _creak_ and they’re ushered into the market square.

It hasn’t changed much. Granted, the last time they were was only a few weeks ago, but that’s beside the point. The city’s still packed with people and carts and horses, with the occasional stray chicken running loose between the sea of legs; it’s still loud and dirty, and every now and then, Rayla feels the back of her neck prickle with the stare of a curious stranger. She fights the urge to draw her hood up over head. It’s been a long while since the war ended but the world - herself included - is still getting used to the idea of elves and humans mingling with each other so casually, and it’s a learning curve for her just as much as it is for them.

She still remembers the first time she arrived in this city as Ezran’s guest; still remembers the confusion and the hostility that met her when she’d first walked through those gates. It’s better now, but the attention still puts her on edge, and she finds herself subtly shifting closer to Callum as he leads her through the crowded market.

He anticipates it - catches her fingers with his and pulls her along, edging between carts and people as the castle looms overhead. He squeezes gently as they pass by a baker who shoots her a dirty look, and Callum glares back, a stern reminder that he’s not just an archmage, but also a prince - his Prince, in fact. The baker ducks his gaze, and Rayla finds herself forcing down an impressed chuckle.

“You’ll scare everyone off like that, you know,” she comments mildly.

Callum snorts a little as he tugs her out of the crowd and into the comparatively empty street on the other side of the market. “It’s rude to stare,” he says.

“It’s worse to glare.” It’s supposed to be a joke, but Callum doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t even snigger, and too late, Rayla notices the tension in his shoulders and the tightness in his jaw. Perhaps if she were anyone else, she mightn’t have noticed it at all, but she's known him long enough now to know when he’s bothered and pretending not to be.

She stops, pulls against his fingers, and draws him to her. “Hey.”

Callum sighs - it’s little more than a huff through his nose, but still a sigh nevertheless. He sags his shoulders, and relaxes his jaw, and he offers Rayla a smile - a grimace, really, it’s an odd tilt of his lips more than it is anything else - as he shifts the strap of his pack. “Sorry,” he murmurs.

“It’s fine, okay?” she says quietly. Her fingers are still laced with his, her thumb rubbing circles into the back of his hand like it’ll ease the tension out of his system. “I’m not bothered by it, and you shouldn’t be either.”

“I know.”

His voice is clipped - bitter, even. Rayla makes a face at him. Part of her wonders if this is cumulative; if he’s still bothered about the woman in Neolandia and it’s carrying over and adding to his discontent with the baker. It’s not like him, she thinks, and it worries her a little. He’s not one to dwell - not usually - and it’s rare for him to be so stubborn over something they both agree is just _dumb_. In all fairness, she can’t really scold him for it - she’s decidedly less patient and she imagines that, if they were in Xadia, she might have picked a fight over it already. But she takes her own turn to sigh, tries to breathe the frustration out for both of them, and brushes his bangs out of his eyes. “Callum.”

He leans into her touch and takes in a breath. “You’re right,” he murmurs, and when he finally does look at her, he smiles. A real one this time - one that reaches his eyes. “Let’s go see Ez.

She grins back. “Let’s.”

 

x

 

“Your Majesty.”

Ezran’s in a lesson this morning. He may be King, but he’s not foolish enough to think he can run the city without at least a base understanding in economic theory. Meetings and negotiations and treaties and court don’t leave a lot of room for spare time, but Ezran does his best to fill in his gaps regardless. He’d be a poor King if he didn’t have the knowledge to back up his decision making, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t find it drier than the air in the Breach. He’d only been half listening today, the other half of his attention focused on the two bluebirds flitting around each other on the window sill.

He jumps at the interruption, accidentally nudging a snoozing Bait with the toe of his boot. His tutor, Anahita, frowns.

“What is it?” asks Ezran, swivelling around in his chair to face the messenger.

The messenger bows deeply. “My apologies, Your Majesty,” he says. “But Prince Callum and - ” he hesitates, pressing his lips shut uncertainly - “the Lady Rayla have arrived.”

Suddenly he’s wide awake. Ezran jumps out of the chair, stumbling over Bait in the process. “Sorry buddy,” he mutters, heaving him into his arms. “Are we done for the day?” he adds to Anahita.

Anahita sighs, puts her spectacles in her greying hair, and snaps her book shut. “I don’t imagine you’ll be able to concentrate now anyway,” she grumbles. “Until next week then, Your Majesty.” She bows her head, but Ezran hardly sees it.

He pushes past the messenger, yelling a hurried apology over his shoulder, and all but sprints out of their makeshift classroom. Bait groans in his arms as he runs; as he nearly trips over his own boots on the way down the tower steps, and as he almost bowls over a chef and two guards in the hall - “Please be careful, Your Majesty!” he hears one say, and Ezran shouts a “Sorry! Will do!” as he races past.

He spots Callum and Rayla in the West Wing of the castle, Callum with his pack slung casually over his shoulder, Rayla grinning fondly at a page in Callum’s sketchbook.

“Hey!” he calls. “You’re back!” And Callum has barely a second to turn before Ezran rams into them both and brings all three of them to the ground in a giggling heap. “Sorry,” he adds, untangling himself, while Bait groans and finds his way into Callum’s lap, looking disgruntled. “I missed you guys.”

“We’ve only been gone a few weeks,” chuckles Callum. “What’s so important that you wanted us back so soon?”

“Later,” says Ezran, waving him off. “How’ve you been?”

“Good, until you tackled us both into the ground,” teases Rayla. She musses his hair, grinning as she struggles to her feet. She holds an arm out to Callum too and rubs Bait’s forehead affectionately to say hi. “I hope our arrival didn’t interrupt anything.”

“Nah,” says Ezran. “Just economics. Nothing too interesting.”

Callum snorts at him. “I dunno, Ez, economics is important.”

“I don’t see either of _you_ putting yourself through it.”

“We’re not the ones making all the big decisions.” He grins, handing Bait off to Rayla entirely to sling an arm around Ezran’s shoulders. “Anyway, what’s new? Anything cool going on? Anything we should know about before we get settled in?”

He doesn’t mean anything by it, but Ezran almost has a heart attack there and then. He laughs it off, trying to keep the nerves out his smile. “Ah, nah, nothing new to report,” he says, looking away perhaps a little defensively. “Just - you know, more of the same!” It comes out too cheerful and too loud, and Callum and Rayla, who both know him far too well, raise their eyebrows at him which does nothing to settle the panic in his stomach.

It’s not that he thinks they’d react badly to his proposition. It’s that he doesn’t know how they might react at all. It was funny that time he’d called Callum out on it, but this is different entirely. This means forcing them to examine their relationship in a way that they probably (knowing Callum) haven’t yet, and, not only that, it puts them on show for literally the entire world to see. It’s a daunting prospect, even to him, and he’s not even really involved. He thinks he’d rather they be fed and well settled before he drops _that_ bombshell on them.

“Is… everything okay?” asks Rayla slowly.

“Yep!” says Ezran. “Yep, yep! Let me - uh - let me help you guys with your stuff!”

 

x

 

When they come to visit, Rayla usually stays in Ezran’s old room because of its proximity to Callum, but this time around, with his proposition in mind, Ezran had gone to the trouble of having a seperate room prepared for her a little way down the hall. Whatever happens next, whatever they decide to do, he wants to minimise the impact it might have on their lives, and the last thing they need is the scandal of staying in the same room on top of - well -

The scandal of an elf-human marriage.

Having it in his head in so many words makes it feel so much _heavier_ , and when Ezran had opened the door for Rayla to let her examine her new quarters, the ‘ _why_ ’ was obvious on her face long before it left her mouth.

“Uh - you know - I - I thought you might like the privacy,” Ezran had told her, voice squeaking in odd places. He’d thrown in a grin for good measure, but Rayla wasn’t fooled then, and she’s not fooled by the way he ignores his dessert now. Who does he think he’s kidding? He'd do anything for a jelly tart, and the fact that he can’t even _touch_ them is more than enough tip off both her and Callum.

“All right, spill it,” says Callum at last. He sets his goblet down with a decisive thunk that only makes Ezran’s stomach squirm even more. “You’re not eating your jelly tarts, you put Rayla in a different room - what’s going on, Ezran?”

“Uuuuuh.” He pauses, unsure how to put it in words that’ll actually leave his mouth. He pushes his plate away, looks at the guard posted at the entrance of the dining hall, and clears his throat. “Can we have a moment?” he asks him. “Alone?”

The guard hesitates. His eyes turn to Rayla, suspicious, apprehensive, and Ezran can practically feel the way resolve replaces the anxiety in his gut.

“ _Now_?”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” he mumbles. He offers the three of them a clanking bow and leaves the room, but not without one last uneasy look at Rayla.

It reminds Ezran of why he’d come up with this ridiculous idea in the first place, and he swallows, looks them both in the eye, and lets the words spill from his mouth in a rush. “I want to arrange your marriage.”

He doesn’t miss the shadow that crosses Rayla’s face.

She looks away. “I’m not sure I should be at this meeting,” she mutters crisply, pushing her plate away, but Ezran holds up a hand.

“To each other.”

The silence that follows is awkward. They stare at him, blinking, pale-faced, open-mouthed, wordless. Ezran hopes he hasn’t broken them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts filled:
> 
> 1) tumblr user @burr-ell sent me this headcanon about Rayla and Callum being unashamedly affectionate while also being in severe denial and that is this entire fic my dude


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The concept’s that horrifying, is it?"

iii.

  
  


“ _ Come again _ ?” says Callum at last. It’s not often that Ezran finds his brother’s face unreadable, but it is today and it sets him on edge. At most, it feels like Callum’s scrambling for purchase on the concept but can’t quite get a hold on it. 

Ezran presses his lips together, tries to tilt their corners into a wan smile like he isn’t also a little terrified of the idea but even that fails him. Rayla looks as if she still hasn’t recovered, and twice, she tries to say something only for it to catch in her throat. He takes a breath. “I think the three of us know better than anyone that elves and humans are both too stubborn to see that they’re not all that different,” he says, although his voice is weak and a little squeaky. “I - I figured -”

“That us getting  _ married  _ would solve that problem?” Callum slumps against the backrest of his dining chair and puts his hands over his face, as if the very idea is enough to give him a headache. “Was that the  _ favour  _ you wanted from us when you sent us that letter? No offense, but that’s - that’s -”

“A little ridiculous?” manages Rayla at last. She still hasn’t quite got a hold of her face but Ezran notes the way she doesn’t quite look at either of them.

“Yeah! I mean -  _ us? _ ” He gestures wildly between himself and Rayla. “We’re not - there’s nothing - where would you even get the  _ idea  _ \- ?”

Ezran’s hesitation around the topic disappears. He frowns at his brother. “‘ _ Where would I get the idea? _ ’” he says, his tone dry, mocking. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah!” snaps Callum. “ _Where_ , exactly, would you get the idea that I’d want to marry Rayla?”

Rayla shuts her mouth at last as she rounds on Callum. “The concept’s  _ that  _ horrifying, is it?” she says coolly.

Callum falters. “W-well, I - uh -” He huffs. “ _ You _ said yourself that you thought it was ridiculous.”

“It  _ is _ ,” snaps Rayla. “But not because I don’t-” She stops herself there, shuts her eyes tight and takes a steadying breath. Ezran catches something like grimace flickering across her face but it’s gone when she looks up again. “We get enough stares and dirty looks without this, Ezran. It’s not going to pan out the way you think it will.”

“Won’t it?” Ezran raises an eyebrow at her - at both of them. “Don’t you get tired of the arguments at every negotiation? Don’t you want a way to prove to that being friends  _ isn’t that hard _ ? It’s -” He pauses, choosing his words carefully. “It’s an  _ opportunity _ ,” he says at last. “It won’t change things. It’s just a legal thing to prove that friendship and unity between the Pentarchy and Xadia is more than possible, and you can still learn magic and travel and oversee treaties and stuff together. And - Callum - any marriage you were ever going to enter was always going to be political. At least this way, you don’t have to marry someone you’ve never met!”

“That’s not how this works, Ez,” says Callum. “One arranged marriage isn’t going to magically make everyone get along. Do you even realize what you’re asking us to do?”

“What, you think I didn’t think this through?” 

“I don’t know that you did! Rayla and I don’t think of each other like that!”

“You don’t have to,” snaps Ezran, “it’s an  _ arranged marriage. _ In any case, who do you think you’re kidding? Anyone with eyes can see what’s going on there.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“ _ That’s enough _ .” 

Rayla’s voice is cutting, and whatever words Ezran might have said next die on his tongue. She gives them both a hard stare, her jaw set, her eyes unimpressed with a hint of something he can’t quite place. A pause falls between them, heavy with implication and, for a moment, Ezran thinks he might have misread the signs; maybe he’s wrong about this thing he thinks is between them - but he catches the look Rayla gives his brother and knows with a certainty that he can’t explain that he’s not.

“I get what you’re trying to do, Ez,” she says levelly.  _ Too  _ levelly, like she’s putting more effort into keeping her voice steady than she needs to. “It’s a nice sentiment, but it’s still  _ ridiculous _ .”

Ridiculous, yes, and he’s well and truly aware of it, but Ezran takes careful note of the way she says  _ ridiculous _ and not  _ no.  _ “You don’t have to agree to it,” he tells them. “To be totally fair, Rayla’s not a citizen of Katolis and I can’t ask her to do  _ anything _ . But I want you both to be happy as much as I want what’s best for the city and its relationship with Xadia, and I really think this is a good compromise. Please just think about it.”

“For how long, exactly?” asks Callum.

Ez takes a breath. “There’s a ball in a couple of weeks. I was hoping to announce it then if you both agree. But -” He trails off, watching the way Rayla suddenly can’t look Callum in the face and the way Callum seems to keep glancing at her from the corner of his eye. “I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want to. It’s your decision.” He waits a full half minute for them to rebut him, but when they say nothing else, he slips out of his seat and tucks Bait under his arm. “Have a good night, you guys,” he mutters, turning on his heel and leaving them both staring after him in the dining room.

 

x

 

It  _ is  _ ridiculous, thinks Callum. The very idea heats his face and makes it hard to breathe, and he and Rayla are close, sure, but it’s the result of spending years together in close quarters, not whatever on earth Ezran thinks it is. There might have been times when he’s watched her surreptitiously out of the corner his eye; times when his hands lingered longer than they should, and hers left goosebumps in his skin; times when their banter bordered on flirting, even - but at the core of it, they’re just friends! They’re so comfortable together out of necessity, and even if there was an inkling of something more than platonic between them (and he’s not saying that there is, because there’s  _ not _ ), Callum would rather throw himself at a banther without magic than risk their friendship for something as stupid as a crush.

(Which he doesn’t have, just to be clear).

The trek back up to their rooms is awkward. The tower staircase is narrow, but there’s a space between them that was never there before - where they might have been bumping elbows and making jokes once, there’s empty air and Callum can’t help but blame Ezran for it. He loves his brother, but it was out of line to imply there was something more to their relationship when there’s ( _ clearly _ ) not.

“Sorry about Ezran,” he mutters at last. He doesn’t look at her - he doesn’t know that he can yet, without being reminded of idea of being married to her. He doesn’t need his face any redder than it already is. 

“He means well,” says Rayla. She doesn’t look at him either. “I get it, I do, but…”

Callum lets out a tense laugh. “I know right?  _ Us _ ?  _ Married _ ? Can you even imagine?”

“Yeah,” snorts Rayla, but she still doesn’t look at him. She looks everywhere  _ but _ him, in fact. “It’s - it’s pretty out there, all right.”

“Right? And even if we did like each other like that  - which we _don’t_ \- it won’t fix the problem. Not the way that he thinks it will.”

“Probably not,” she says, nodding uncomfortably as they step onto the landing of their floor. She offers him a weak smile that doesn’t get all the way to her eyes, and when she accidentally meets his gaze, she looks away too quickly. 

Callum backtracks; wonders if he might have said something stupid, or if maybe he’d made a mistake. “Hey,” he says. He catches her hand as she gets to her door, and she flinches, her breath hitching in her throat as she snatches it back like his touch burns against her skin. Callum hesitates, but he doesn’t move any closer. “Are you okay?”

“Fine!” she says quickly. “Uh - yeah - it’s - it’s just been a long day. Everything’s fine.” 

She’s  _ still _ not looking at him, and she’s backed up against her bedroom door like his presence makes her uncomfortable. Alarm bells go off in Callum’s head - they’ve never had this problem; she’s never been  _ uncomfortable _ around him; there’s never been a  _ reason _ for her to be uncomfortable around him, and he’d made sure of it. “Rayla,” he starts. “Did - did I say something wrong?”

“Nope,” she says quickly, opening the door behind her like she wants to bolt. “Not at all. Everything’s dandy!”

“Hey - whatever I said - I’m sorry -”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” she says. “We’re just friends, right?”

He pauses. The answer lodges itself in his throat, and he hesitates, an odd feeling he can’t quite name bubbling in his chest. “Yeah,” he says finally. “What else would we be?”

Rayla smiles at him - that same weak smile from before, devoid of her usual warmth and charm. “Sleep tight, Callum,” she bids him, slipping into her room and shutting the door in his face, leaving him wordless and alone in the hall.

 

x

 

“It’s not a dumb plan,” Ezran mutters, more to himself than to Bait who’s lying belly-up on the bed. “They care about each other more than they want to admit, I know it.”

Bait grumbles disapprovingly by way of answer.

“I know,” groans Ezran. He paces the room, alternating between wringing his hands in front of him and running them through his hair in his frustration. “I shouldn’t have sprung it on them. But  _ how _ ? I don’t understand  _ how _ they’ve spent so long in each other’s company and  _ not noticed _ .”

Bait gives him a look.

“I’m  _ not  _ wrong,” he snaps. “I know them both too well. I saw it Rayla’s face when I first told them. I saw it Callum’s that day they were sparring in the courtyard. There’s something there, they just don’t know it yet - or maybe they do but they don’t know how to admit it. I know I’m right about this, Bait. Because if I wasn’t - don’t give me that look - if I wasn’t, this wouldn’t be such a big  _ deal _ . Callum was always going to have to marry for the realm and he’s known that for ages and he picks  _ now _ to complain about not having feelings when I suggest just marrying  _ Rayla _ ?” He huffs, flopping face forward into the bed.

Bait waddles over and plops himself next to him, nudging his hand for affection.

“ _ They’re  _ the ones being dumb,” mumbles Ezran into the bed, lifting his hand absently to rub Bait’s belly. “I just have to make them see it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys ever get secondhand embarrassment so bad you have to pause whatever it is you're doing and just take a second to breathe? Yeah. It's even worse when you have to write it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She’s not upset, she reminds herself. It’s fine. She’s fine. They’re both fine.

iv.

 

 

Rayla’s not upset. She’s _not_ . She’s tired, yeah, and a little exasperated because Ezran’s proposition is - well - _ridiculous_ , but she’s _not upset_ , and she’s furious at herself for even considering the idea that she _might_ be.

They’re just friends. They’ve _always_ just been friends. There’s no reason to be disappointed, or sad, or even mad at Callum for reiterating the fact. They’re affectionate because they’re close, and have been for years, but there’s never been anything more than that; no feelings attached but platonic ones; no intended intimacy over their casual familiarity.

They’re _just friends._

Or, at least, that's what she tells herself as she presses her back against the bedroom door.

She hears Callum pause outside it, wonders if perhaps he’ll knock and they’ll talk it over and clear the air between them the way they always have when they’ve had arguments - but he doesn’t, and his footsteps start against the stone floor and fade as he heads down the hall.

Rayla breathes out a sigh. It comes out uneven and shaking for reasons she doesn’t really want to admit. Her friendship with Callum is solid. It’s been her anchor for the last three years and kept her grounded on days she’s wanted to fly off the handle. It’s constant and precious and comfortable, and when she’d first found herself wondering if maybe something else might come out of it, she’d squashed those feelings in the hope that they would go away and nothing would change.

They haven’t gone away.

And now things are changing.

His touch burns now, his hands suddenly foreign against her skin. His closeness to her out in the hall had made it hard to breathe.

But she’s not upset, she reminds herself. It’s fine. She’s fine. They’re both fine. It’s not like she wants to be _married_ to him anyway, and even besides that, the idea of a marriage between an elf and a human prince is a whole other can of worms that she’s not sure she even wants to touch. She has enough trouble with her own people sometimes - other elves who haven’t quite accepted the reality of the war being _over_ who think she’s thrown her lot in with humans. To be perfectly honest, she’d rather avoid the scandal and the gossip altogether. In any case, now she knows. They’re just friends and she can squash those feelings for good, knowing they won’t be reciprocated.

She pushes herself off the door at last. Her new room is spacious and far bigger than she needs: there’s a bed pressed against the left wall, a desk under the window, an armoire on the far wall that she has no need for, but the privacy is nice. Maybe Ezran had anticipated this reaction and had gone to so much trouble to make sure she had some space to clear her head.

She flops into the bed and exhales tiredly into the sheets.

She’s not upset, she reminds herself once more. She imagines she’ll feel better in the morning.

 

x

 

“Your Majesty.”

Ezran makes a face as General Balan, head of the Katolan army, follows him out of the throne room with heavy, clanking steps.Today’s Council meeting was early, and productive as it was, Ezran’s still yawning into his elbow and trying to shake the sleep out of his system. He watches Balan’s shadow on the corridor wall and waits until he can feel his presence behind him before he addresses him.

“What can I do for you, General Balan?” Ezran asks, without turning around.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” he begins. Ezran can already hear the displeasure in his voice. “But there have been some… rumours.”

“Rumours of what?”

Balan draws a breath. “That your brother is to marry the elf.”

Ezran pauses in midstep, eyes widening a fraction as he shoots Balan a look from the corner of his eye. How would Balan even _know_? He wonders. He’d gone to so much trouble to keep things quiet; to make sure he could keep Callum and Rayla out of everyone’s attention until they absolutely needed to be. This doesn’t need to be any harder for them than it already is, and word getting around so quickly makes him nervous on their behalf. He spins on his heel.

“That my brother is to marry _who_?” he says sharply.

Balan falters. Years of being on the High Council instead of the field have turned him into a greying and portly old man with a permanent scowl. He might have been imposing once, Ezran thinks, with his perfectly-polished armour and severe expression, but since Ezran’s been on the throne, Balan’s been more of a nuisance than a help.

“My apologies, Your Majesty,” he mutters quickly, throwing in a bow for good measure. “There - there are rumours that your brother is to marry the - the Lady Rayla.”

Ezrain finds himself smirking a little at the title. It’s an unofficial thing - Rayla hates it, but she’s too close to him and Callum for the rest of his staff to address her without formality. It’s certainly better than hearing his staff refer to her as ‘the elf’, anyway. He forces himself to keep a straight face. “I don’t know where you heard _that_ ,” he says coolly - _carefully_ , determined to keep Callum and Rayla’s privacy for as long as he can. “As far as I’m aware, those are just rumours.”

“Your Majesty, I -” Balan takes in a slow breath, like he’s trying to keep his calm. “Prince Callum is too close to - to her Ladyship. I believe that if we do nothing, those rumours will be encouraged.”

“Don’t encourage them then,” sneers Ezran. Balan’s never been one of his favourite Council members because of his obvious dislike for elves. Ezran gets it. Really, he does. Balan’s been sending troops to the Breach to fight Xadian forces for most of his life, and he understands his hesitation to drop his guard - but Balan is also one of the reasons its still so hard to negotiate. The war’s been over three years and his beliefs are outdated. Nowadays, Ezran doesn’t have a lot of patience for his old world views.

Balan presses his lips into a thin line. Ezran gets the feeling he’s not Balan’s favourite king either. “Your Majesty,” he tries again. “Do you really think it’s appropriate for Prince Callum to be behaving the way he is?”

“Prince Callum can do what he likes,” says Ezran. “And whether or not he’s going to marry anyone is none of your business until he allows it to be by announcing his intentions. Has he announced his intentions?”

“Er - no, Your Majesty, but -”

“Then it’s none of your business.” Ezran offers him a cold smile. “I have other meetings to attend, General. Is there anything else?”

Balan sighs. “No, Your Majesty,” he says stiffly. “That’s all.” He bows once more and takes his leave, armour glinting in the weak morning sun as strides down the hall.

Ezran watches him go with a scowl. As much of a nuisance as he is, Balan’s never done anything outwardly antagonistic, and there’s no real reason to replace him with someone whose views are less bigoted. Not yet, anyway. He huffs, rounds the corner, and yelps when he finds Rayla leaning casually against the corridor wall.

“Bossy,” she says, smirking. “Queen Aanya of Duren rubbing off on you, is she?”

Ezran laughs. “You kind of have to be bossy to deal with people like General Balan.”

“And you really think me and Callum getting married is going to fix people like him overnight?”

“It won’t,” says Ezran. “But it might be a start.” He studies her face; notes the slightest of slumps in her posture and the tiniest hint of uneasiness in her eyes. Most of all, he notes the fact that she’s not with Callum. He smiles at her. “I’ve got some time before my next thing. Let’s go for a walk.”

 

x

 

They end up in the stables.

“The horses have fun stories,” Ezran tells her, handing her a horse brush and filling a bucket with straw and carrots for the splotchy brown filly in the last stall. “It’s nice to come down sometimes. The stable hands do a great job but I think the horses prefer me because they can tell me what they want. This is Vorobey.”

The filly shakes her mane, and Rayla doesn’t need to understand her explicitly to know she’s pleased to see Ezran. Not for the first time, Rayla remembers how lonely it must be for him - she and his brother probably miles away on any given day with only Bait and the horses for company. “Vorobey?” she asks.

“It’s what she calls herself,” says Ezran. “The stable hands call her Naida, but she doesn’t like it as much.”

The filly sniffs Rayla curiously, nosing at her hair and her ears. The coarse hair of her snout tickles against Rayla's neck, and she laughs, lifting a hand to rub her mane.

“She likes you!” says Ezran, pleased. “You can take her when you go - I think she’d like travelling more with you than sitting around here.” He pauses, offering Vorobey a carrot from his bucket. “I’m sorry about last night,” he adds. “I shouldn’t have sprung it on you guys like that. It was… a little sudden.”

“It’s fine,” says Rayla, smiling a little as she brushes the tangles out of Vorobey’s mane. “It’s not really news you could have given us warning for.”

“Still.” Ezran puts a carrot in her hand for Vorobey. “You and Callum get along so well. I just don’t get why it’s hard for everyone else to see how easy it is.”

“Believe me,” mutters Rayla. “We know. It’s annoying for us too, you know - having to listen to elves and humans arguing over things that don’t matter. I understand why you think it might help, I just… don’t know that it actually will.”

“So… you won’t do it?”

“You asked us to consider it over the next couple of weeks,” says Rayla. “That’s what we’ll do.”

“And… Callum?”

“What about him?”

Ezran pauses. Rayla can practically feel the way he tries to study her face, but she keeps her eyes on Vorobey, enjoying the way she snuffs the food out of her palm with eager lips.

“Did… Callum upset you?”

“I’m not upset,” says Rayla quickly. Too quickly, and she curses herself for it. Ezran’s a smart kid. She’s probably just blown whatever chance she had at keeping her feelings to herself.

He says nothing about it though. Instead, he offers Vorobey the bucket of straw and giggles at the way she helps herself to it. “Give him time,” says Ezran vaguely. “He’s not the most… perceptive. He’ll get there.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Whatever you want it to mean,” says Ezran. He pats Vorobey’s neck and offers her a grin. “You wanna take her out for a ride?”

She hears the stable door swing open before she can think about it, but it’s the familiar footfalls against the hay-strewn floor that throw her into a panic.

“Ez? Rayla? You guys in here?”

Rayla blanches, and, unconsciously, she shrinks back against Vorobey. Ezran catches her eye, and she considers it - considers facing Callum and dealing with the annoying little ache in her chest at last - but in the end, she shakes her head.

Ezran nods. He puts a saddle against Vorobey’s back, straps it tight without a word, and points a finger at the back of the stable. “Go that way,” he murmurs. “I’ll distract him.” He pats Vorobey’s mane once more as Rayla mounts up before he pushes open the stall door.

“Hey,” she hears him say. “What’s going on?”

“Is Rayla with you?” asks Callum. “I haven’t seen her all morning.”

“Nah,” says Ezran. “Have you tried the North Tower? She likes it up there some times. C’mon, I’ll help you look for her.”

Their footsteps recede, and Rayla heaves a sigh, grateful for Ezran’s consideration, and for silence in the stable once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I hear someone say they wanted some Pining!Rayla?


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s not like he can do much more than think, anyway.

v.

 

As much as Callum would like to think that the palace staff have grown used to Rayla over the last three years, the sad reality is that they haven’t, and while she doesn’t _need_ it, he accompanies her to breakfasts and dinners and anywhere else the staring and the glaring might make her the slightest bit uncomfortable anyway, the same way she does whenever they’re in Xadia. They’ve grown protective of each other over the years, probably because their first journey together involved both sides trying to kill them at any one time, but their need to keep each other safe and okay in every sense of the word persists even now. To everyone else, it must look like they’re joint at the hip, and perhaps _that’s_ where Ezran had gotten the crazy idea that they were more than just friends, but ultimately, Callum would rather deal with the rumours than know Rayla was in any way _uncomfortable_.

So when she’s _not_ in her room the next morning, and she’s not at breakfast either, the alarm bells that had started ringing in Callum’s mind last night become a fanfare, because the only person who could make her so uncomfortable she’d avoid him is - well - himself.

The guilt gnaws at him. He’s still not entirely sure what he did, or what he said, but the guilt is there regardless, chewing at him from the inside until he’s fretting around the halls asking if anyone’s seen her, or, at the very least, the only other person in this castle she’d be comfortable going to - Ezran.

“They were on their way to the stables, Your Highness,” a guard posted in the South Wing tells him. “His Majesty wanted to -” She frowns like she’s unsure that she’d heard correctly - “introduce Her Ladyship to a horse?”

Of course. Callum almost laughs. Where else would Ezran take her? “How long ago was that?”

“Only a few minutes ago, Your Highness.”

Callum breathes out a sigh of relief. “Thanks,” he adds to the guard, before he jogs out of the keep, across the courtyard, and down the steps to the stables by the postern gate. “Ez?” he calls, pushing open the stable door, his footsteps against thumping heavily on the wooden floor. “Rayla? You guys in here?”

He’s answered by silence at first, broken only by the sound of braying horses in the stalls, before Ezran appears with a bucket swinging on his arm. “Hey,” he says. “What’s going on?”

Callum frowns at him. The guard had said they were _both_ down here. “Is Rayla with you? I haven’t seen her all morning.”

Ezran shakes his head. “Nah,” he says, setting the bucket on the bench by the door. “Have you tried the North Tower? She likes it up there sometimes. C’mon, I’ll help you look for her.” He steers Callum out of the stable with a firm hand on his elbow, and they get all the way back to the inner bailey wall before Callum has the sense to shake him off.

“You haven’t seen her, then?” It comes out a little more suspicious of Ezran than he would have liked, but Ezran only shrugs.

“I would have thought she was with you,” he says pointedly. “Did something happen?”

Callum pauses, and whatever accusations he might have had for his brother leave him as the guilt comes back in full force. He ducks his head. “I think I might have messed up.”

Ezran raises an eyebrow at him. “What’d you do?”

“I don’t know,” he says honestly. “She - she didn’t seem mad or anything, but I think I might have said something to upset her. I wanted to talk her about it and apologise but…”

“Ah.”

“Yeah.”

Callum huffs and runs a hand through his hair. He waits until a stable boy passes them by completely before he shakes his head at Ezran. “This whole… marriage thing is messing us up, Ez,” he mutters, keeping his voice low.

“You think it has something to do with that?”

“Maybe?” Callum grimaces. “I don’t know. I just know we’ve never had problems like this. I dunno what to do to fix it.”

Ezran studies him, brow furrowing, lips pursed in a thoughtful frown. “I’m sorry I sprung it on you both,” he says slowly, eyeing the guards posted at the inner bailey gates. “Whatever it is she’s bothered about - whatever you think you did - it’ll pass. She’ll come back, and you guys’ll talk it over the way you always do, and it’ll all be fine again, you’ll see.”

“Easy for you to say,” mutters Callum. He looks up at the North Tower and sighs once more. Ezran’s encouragement hardly feels like it - while he’s right, and Callum knows in his head that he is, the problem feels even bigger now. He’d liked where he and Rayla were at before, and there’s a very real possibility that this marriage thing might have put a rod through the spokes of _that_ wagon wheel for good. In some ways, he feels like he should be mad at Ezran for messing it all up, but it’s not Ezran's fault, and Ezran isn’t the one who upset her. “You’re sure you haven’t seen her?”

Ezran pauses, eyes flitting uneasily to the stables and back again. “Yeah,” he says at last.

Callum’s stomach churns. He knows his brother too well to miss the lie, which can only mean that he _has_ seen her; that she _was_ in the stables with him (and might still be); and that she’s so shaken up by whatever it was he did that Ezran’s helping her keep away. He considers going back to corner her while he can - but he thinks about the way she’d shied away from him last night and decides she’s probably had enough of him for now.

“I can take it from here,” he murmurs at last. “If we do end up talking, it should probably be in private anyway.”

“Good luck,” says Ezran, patting Callum’s back in a way that Callum guesses is supposed to be supportive.

Callum snorts. “Thanks,” he says. “I might need it.”

 

x

 

He goes up to the North Tower anyway.

It’s a thing Rayla does when the pointless arguments and the dirty looks start to irritate her. More than once, he’s found her hiding away in the embrasures of the highest tower of whatever castle they’re staying in, feet dangling dangerously off the edge of the parapet, braving the chilly wind that comes with the altitude just for some peace and quiet. Personally, Callum doesn’t enjoy the height the way she does, but it’s as good a place to wait for her as any, and if it works for her, there’s no reason it shouldn’t also work for him.

It’s not like he can do much more than think, anyway.

He shivers in the wind; pulls his jacket tighter around his body and his scarf over his nose, and when that does nothing to warm him, he draws a rune in the air with both hands, breathes into it, and whispers, _“Ventum obstructio.”_ The wind dies immediately, blocked by an invisible wall extending around the tower, powered by his own breath.

The relative silence is wonderful. Callum breathes it in and sits with his back against a merlon, enjoying the peace, the quiet, the proximity to the sky -

Until the trapdoor in the centre of the tower opens with a bang and he nearly jumps out of his skin.

“Callum! Ezran said you were back!”

Callum hardly registers who it is before the newcomer throws their arms around him in a rush. The dark hair is in a bun and the clothes, considerably less fine than he remembers, but the voice is the same, and Callum blinks against a shoulder and allows a chuckle to escape him. “Claudia?”

“Sorry,” she says, pulling away to grin at him. “How are you? Where’s - er -”

“Rayla?” Callum laughs. “You don’t have to call her Her Ladyship or whatever. She hates it. She’s - um -” He makes a face and wonders how to explain. “It’s complicated.”

Claudia tilts her head curiously at him. “Is this about the whole arranged marriage thing?”

Callum stares. “How do you know about that?”

“There have been some rumours,” Claudia giggles and tucks a stray lock of her hair behind her ear. “No one really knows anything more about it than that. It’d be fitting, I think, if you two went through with it. I know you care about each other a lot.”

Callum winces and stares at his shoes. “That’s uh - that’s a little complicated right now. Can we just not…” He shakes his head. “What are you doing here anyway? I thought you were trying to find a way to help Soren without - you know.”

Claudia studies him, but in the end she just shrugs. “Ezran - sorry - _His Majesty_ lets me use the library from time to time. There are some good texts in there. And Soren - Soren’s doing really well, actually. We found - well - it’s hard to explain. I think it’s better just to show you.”

“Show me?”

Claudia nods, grinning. “Have you got time now?”

“I… guess?”

Her grin widens. “Come on.”

 

x

 

She takes him to an apothecary at the edge of the city.

The sign is new-ish compared to the signs of the other shops around it. Callum thinks it can’t be any older than a couple of years old, but the wares inside are fascinating, and unlike products he’d find in other apothecaries within the Pentarchy. There are buckets of moonberries by the window; bunches of Xadian sweetgrass for sale; vials of shimmering medicine on the shelves; odd little trinkets imbued with sun magic - Callum frowns, wondering where anyone would get all of this when human travel in Xadia, even for trade, is still so restricted.

“Ailas!” calls Claudia. “There’s someone here you should meet!”

There’s a rummaging in the back room. Ailas is an odd name, Callum thinks, but only until the back curtain rustles and someone tall with dark skin, gold marks under his eyes, and slanted horns strides into the room.

The vials of medicine. The Xadian sweetgrass. Ailas. _Of course._ Everything makes sense now, and Callum lets out a long “ _Oh_ ,” as realization dawns on him.

“Ailas, this is Archmage and His Royal Highness, Prince Callum,” says Claudia, ushering him forward. “Callum, this is Ailas. He’s been… teaching me some stuff.”

“Oh, uh, nice to meet you, Ailas,” says Callum, a little stupidly, but pleased all the same.

Ailas offers him a smile and a small bow of his head. He reminds Callum a little of Rayla’s uncle with his kind, patient eyes, and the way his grin is just a little lopsided. “Your Highness,” he greets. “Claudia’s told us about your adventures. You’ve been doing good work.”

“Ah, thank you,” says Callum. “I just - I didn’t realize - trade deals have been so hard to negotiate -”

“I’m aware,” says Ailas, with an amused twinkle in his eye. “But as I said, you’ve been doing good work. It’s because of you and the young elf Rayla that I’ve been able to set up here.”

“And by extension, it’s because of you Soren’s okay,” says Claudia, clapping her hands in front of her. “I know you guys are trying to set up ways for humans to go and learn magic in Xadia, but there’s no way someone like me - with _my_ background in dark magic - would ever be able to go. So, Ailas has been teaching me instead. Just, you know, little bits. Enough to make sure Soren can walk.”

“Where is he, anyway?” asks Callum.

“Out with Lessa,” says Ailas. “My daughter,” he adds. “She rather looks up to Rayla. She’d be thrilled to know you were here today.”

“Maybe I’ll bring Rayla by sometime then,” chuckles Callum, forgetting, for an instant, the business with their supposed marriage. Saying her name reminds him though, and when he remembers, he remembers the rest of his problems too. He huffs and stares down at his shoes. “It was - it was nice to meet you Ailas, but I really should be getting back.”

“Stay for lunch,” insists Claudia, grasping one of his hands in both of hers before he can move. “It’s been a long time and Ailas’ wife is an amazing cook. And you’ll get to see Soren! C’mon, Callum. Please?”

Callum pauses. Catching up does sound nice, and there’s not a lot for him to do in the castle but sit and wait and think. The distraction might be good for him. “Sure,” he says at last. “Lunch sounds great.”

Claudia cheers and throws her arms around him again.

He doesn’t see Rayla crossing the storefront window, eyes downcast, heartbroken grimace on her lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a romcom but my kids are just so sad rn, sorry everyone :<


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "As I said, Your Highness, any start’s a good start.”

vi.

  
  


_The Wishbone_ is a little a shop on the edge of the city, Rayla overhears. It’s only been around a couple of years but it’s popular amongst the common folk for its mysterious and magical goods. No one really knows where the owner gets his merchandise, but no one complains either - nowhere else sells Xadian fruit and strange trinkets and quick-cures for things like headaches and hangovers, let alone for such reasonable prices. The woman she overhears it from even says it’s run by an elf.

Curious, Rayla steers Vorobey through the streets, her hooves _clip-clopping_ gently against the cobblestones as she eases her way through the crowd. She’s not sure what to expect from it, but the idea of a little piece of Xadia - a little piece of _home_ \- here in Katolis feels like it might be comforting, especially right now, while her… _thing_ with Callum is such a mess, and she feels more alone than ever.

She doesn’t expect for Callum to beat her there. She doubly doesn’t expect him to be there with _Claudia._

She’s not jealous, she tells herself, although, in all fairness, she’s been convincing herself that she’s not a lot of things lately. At least this time she can actually be honest about it: she can’t be jealous of losing Callum to Claudia if Callum was never hers to begin with. There’s a part of her that wants to be rational - that wants to believe that there might be nothing to be worried about - Callum’s been just as affectionate to her over the years - moreso, even - but they’re just friends, and those words had come from him.

This is different, though. There are pre-existing emotions there - emotions that Callum might still have that Claudia might return.

Rayla had always wondered what happened to that crush. Recent events kind of imply that he might still have it, even after all this time - even after Claudia had tried to kill them, back in the day. In any case, it’s none of her business, and she draws her hood over her head, forgetting what had brought her to the storefront of _The Wishbone_ to begin with, and tugging Vorobey along by her reigns without a word.

The filly snorts, nosing gently at Rayla’s ears.

“Don’t worry yourself over me, Vorobey,” Rayla chuckles, patting her snout over her shoulder. “Let’s go back up to the castle, hey? I think we’re done here for the day.”

 

x

 

Ailas and his family live above the shop. The staircase up to their little apartment is narrow, and when they emerge on the landing, Callum spots a couple of shelves crammed with books and tools and trinkets from both Xadia and the human kingdoms, a workshop desk lit by a sunstone lamp, and odd pieces of Katolan armour hanging haphazardly off door handles and the backs of chairs. He frowns at those in particular, before a woman with a swell in her belly rounds the corner with a pot of stew in her arms and frowns back.

“Your Highness!” she says. She shoves the pot on the nearest flat surface and bows awkwardly.

It takes Callum a second, but recognition lights his features as he studies her face. He’s seen her grey eyes and red hair a couple of times at the castle, but never outside of her armour, and never so comfortable. He feels terrible he doesn’t even have a name. “You’re part of Ezran’s Crownguard!”

A smile quirks her lips. “Not, at the moment, Your Highness,” she says, patting her belly. “My apologies. I should have known better. It was only a matter of time before you heard of my husband’s store and came to see it for yourself.”

“Your… husband?”

Ailas squeezes past and presses a fond kiss against the woman’s temple. “My wife, Eleni,” he says to Callum. “Isn’t she wonderful?”

“You guys are gross,” laughs Claudia. “Soren and Lessa won’t be too far off. Can I help with anything, Eleni?” She takes the pot from Eleni without waiting for an answer, and Callum watches as she and Ailas bustle around her, taking over her chores, fluffing cushions for her back, and doting on her unborn child.

Callum finds himself feeling like a little like an outsider, intruding on something private and familiar. This life is simple, he thinks, easy, and everything elf-human relations should be; everything he imagines the world could be if elves and humans stopped _fighting_ for just one second. Claudia talks to him over the chores - she and Soren have a place a little while from here, but she helps Ailas with his shop and with Lessa because he helps her keep Soren walking.

They’re good friends. Ailas is the one person who’s never judged her for the magic her father taught her to do; the one person who’d not only helped Soren back on his feet, but _taught_ her how to help him herself. In return, they run his shop when he goes to visit Xadia for supplies, look after Lessa when Eleni has to work, and keep the narrow-minded away when they pass by looking distrustful and wary.

“It’s much easier now than it was,” Eleni tells him, propping her feet up against the cushions. “We have you and Her Ladyship to thank for that.”

“I mean, you’re welcome,” says Callum, “but what are we doing exactly?”

Eleni purses her lips thoughtfully. “I think people just need to see that it’s possible,” she says after a moment. “Ailas and I never thought it was, but here we are. He was a healer, back in the day - he’d come from Xadia offering help to anyone who needed it, elves and humans alike. That’s what I liked about him, you see. If only everyone else were like him.” She winks and blows a kiss at him from over the back of her chair.

“Still gross,” calls Claudia, but they ignore her.

“I still don’t understand,” says Callum. “If it’s as easy as showing it’s possible, why’s it still so hard to get through _one_ negotiation?”

“They can’t all be like us,” chuckles Eleni drily. “But any start’s a good start.”

“This feels pointed.”

“Does it?” Eleni laughs. “The guards know everything, Your Highness. You and Her Ladyship should be careful about where you hold your personal discussions.”

Callum has the sense to flush a little at that. Inwardly, he wonders what other personal discussions they’ve accidentally allowed the palace guards to be privy to. He shakes his head and considers denying it; pretending the rumours really are just rumours, but it feels safe here, and he doesn't want to lie to people as genuine and nice as Eleni and Ailas. "You _really_ don’t have to call Rayla that,” he says instead.

“I know,” chuckles Eleni. “But it’s to keep the other, not-so open-minded folk from calling her anything less. As I said, Your Highness, any start’s a good start.”

 

x

 

It’s late afternoon when Rayla gets back to the stables. She’d dawdled a bit; had tried to distract herself with anything and everything only to feel worse when she’d realized that most of it reminded her of a joke or something that she might have told Callum.

Katolis can feel lonely on a good day, but at least, on good days, she had him. Once, a little while ago when she’d started to miss home, he’d found her on the North Tower and sat with her until the sun set and the moon was high in the sky. She’d leant on his shoulder, careful not to prod him with her horns, had enjoyed his presence and his warmth and his touch without worrying about the implications they might hold now. She misses that. She misses their casual intimacy. She misses _him_ , and while she’s still not ready to face him, she can admit that much at the very least.

“I don’t suppose there’s any point in denying anything now,” she murmurs to Vorobey as she unstraps her saddle. “It’s only been a day, you know? How stupid is that?”

Vorobey brays at her.

“I’ve no idea what you’re saying,” chuckles Rayla, “but I appreciate it.” She puts Vorobey’s saddle away, unclasps her reigns and rubs gently at the marks they’d left on her snout. “Thanks for the company,” she says, before she backs out of the stall entirely and walks almost headfirst into General Balan.

“My Lady,” he says, with a stiff bow. “I wonder if we could have a word?”

Rayla raises an eyebrow at him, tension growing in her shoulders. His conversation with Ezran rings fresh in her mind. “I… suppose,” she says, edging away from him carefully. “What exactly can I do for you, General?”

“With respect, My Lady,” he says. “I ask you not to go through with this marriage.”

Rayla actually snorts at that. She weighs her options, wondering if honesty might be the more mature approach, but Balan has never struck her as the type of person she’d _want_ to be honest for. “That’s not for you to ask,” she says, unfriendly smirk playing on her lips.

“It is if it’s in Prince Callum’s best interests.”

“Somehow, I don’t think it was Prince Callum’s interests you had in mind.” Rayla rolls her eyes and pushes past him, eager to be done with this conversation.

He stops her with a hand around her wrist. “I ask you again,” he says, his voice cold with an unspoken threat, his grip like iron. “Don’t go through with this marriage. You are hardly an appropriate choice, and a marriage to _you_ would turn His Highness into a laughing stock.”

Rayla scowls, free hand drifting instinctively to the blades at her back. “I don’t know where you’re getting your ideas, _General_ ,” she sneers, tearing her wrist out of his grip. “But you’ll have to take whatever issues you might have up with Ezran.”

“ _His Majesty_ doesn’t understand,” snaps Balan. “He doesn’t realize what Prince Callum’s marriage to _you_ would mean for Katolis.”

“You know those are _rumours_ , right?”

“That shouldn’t be encouraged by your continued behaviour. You and Prince Callum both.” He scowls at her and stamps against the stable floor. In her stall, Vorobey nickers a warning at him, bumping menacingly against the stall door. Balan falters. “I ask you once more,” he hisses, in a way that’s not asking at all. “Do _not_ go through with this marriage.”

“Open your eyes, Balan!” snaps Rayla, fighting to keep her cool. “There isn’t one!”

“Then I ask you to leave.”

“ _What_?”

He glares at her, furious, but afraid to make a move against her and the angry filly in the stall. “Leave,” he says again. “Your kind don’t belong here. They never have. They never will.”

Rayla actually _laughs_ . “It’ll take a little more than _you_ to convince me to do that,” she hisses, and she means it. She’s faced powerful archmages and dragons and armies with no one at her side but Callum. An old general hardly scares her. “It’s unbecoming to be a bigot, General Balan,” she says. “Time to grow up.”

She turns on her heel before he can stop her, leaving Balan, red and fuming, scowling after her in the afternoon sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Soren just yet but he'll turn up, I promise.
> 
> **Prompts filled: from an anon: Rayla tries living in the castle and faces racism ~~and odd human customs.~~ "**


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Don't be a chicken."

vii.

  
  
  


Soren turns up part way through lunch with a little half-elf girl - Lessa, Callum presumes - slung over his shoulder and giggling into his back. He hasn’t changed much. He walks with a cane now and his movements are a little slower, but it doesn’t seem to bother him, and it certainly doesn’t stop him from rough-housing with Lessa. His face splits into a cocky grin when he spots Callum at the table. “Well, if it isn’t the step-prince!” he greets happily, hoisting the little girl off his shoulder. “Lessa, who’s that? Do you know who that is?”

Lessa squeaks a little when she sees him, hiding her face in Soren’s pant leg so that all Callum can see is Eleni’s mop of red-brown hair and Ailas’ golden eyes. She can’t be much older than three, and Callum offers her a kind smile as he climbs out of his chair to say hello.

“Hi,” he says gently, crouching in front of her.

She gives him a tiny curtsey, but keeps most of herself behind Soren. “Your Highness,” she mumbles. He hears the slightest hint of smile in her voice, and when he looks, he catches it twinkling bashfully in her eyes. “Is - um -” She peers around the room like she’s counting the people in it. Her face falls. “Oh.”

“She’s looking for Rayla,” chuckles Ailas. 

“Ah.” Callum grimaces. He’s pretty disappointed that she’s not here too. It’s been a good afternoon, but to be completely honest, all he’s been thinking is about how much she would have loved to be here today. She’d like Ailas and his family, and he imagines his shop might feel like a little piece of home while she’s so far away from it. “I’m sorry I’m not as cool as her,” he says to Lessa after a moment. “But hey, how about I bring her by sometime? Would that be okay?”

Lessa nods eagerly, face lighting up behind Soren’s pant leg.

“She’s not usually this shy,” snorts Soren, mussing her hair. “Normally she’s running around like a crazy chicken. Isn’t that right, Lessa?”

She giggles and shakes her head furiously, her timidness fading fast as Soren ushers her forward. Callum grins at her properly now, noting the two tiny horns peeping out of her hair, her rounded ears, and the five little fingers on each of her hands. “I’m not a chicken,” she pouts, clutching at Soren’s fingers, still a little cautious of Callum.

“You’re definitely not a chicken,” agrees Callum. “I think you’re a little lady, just like Rayla.”

Her eyes go wide, something like a blush gracing her chubby tanned cheeks. She releases Soren’s fingers at last and shuffles towards Callum with the edge of her thumb in her mouth, studying his eyes and his smile the way only a three year old would, like she’s trying to measure the amount she likes him. “I’m a lady?”

“Of course!” says Callum, scribbling a rune in the space front of her and muttering, “ _ Florem cresco, _ ” under his breath. A daisy springs to life between them, and he plucks it from the air and presents it to her with a bow. “For you, My Lady.”

Soren scowls at him. “Hey, back off,  _ I’m _ the favourite uncle.”

But Lessa swells anyway, accepting the daisy with both hands and a smile almost too big for her face. She offers him a second, clumsier curtsey, and toddles past him. “Momma, Prince Callum says I’m a lady!”

“Aren’t you just?” laughs Eleni, scooping her little girl off the ground. “You’re very good with her,” she adds to Callum.

Callum waves her off as he gets up. “Rayla’s better,” he says, grinning because he means it, and Lessa’s presence in the room only makes him wish that she were here more. He’s not above admitting that he thinks she’d be a great mom someday, and while he’s still guilty about whatever it was that he’d done to upset her, but he hopes bringing her here might make up for it, even just a bit. She’d love Lessa as much he does already, he’s sure of that at least. Her little fingers and her tiny horns make him wonder, inwardly, what his own child might look like; if he or she might inherit his eyes and Rayla’s - 

He stops himself there. Forces the thought away. Keeps the heat from rising above his collar.

“Callum…?” he hears Claudia say. “You kinda seized up there, you okay?”

Callum clears his throat. “Fine, yeah,” he says. “Yep. Everything’s fine.”

 

x

 

He stays longer than he intends, and when he does (finally) take his leave, Soren and Lessa go with him - Soren, because the exercise is good for his legs, and Lessa, because she has the energy of an excited three year-old and needs to wear herself out so her parents can have an easier time putting her to bed. 

“You shouldn’t be wandering the city by yourself anyway,” Eleni had told him, frowning, even as she pressed a bottle of Moonberry cider into his hands. “You’re the Prince.”

“Also an archmage, but you know.” He’d laughed. “Also I can’t take this.”

“It’s not for  _ you _ ,” Ailas had snorted. “It’s for Rayla. Bring her by soon, won’t you?”

“I will,” Callum had promised.

Now they’re here, the bottle of Moonberry cider swinging from his left hand, Lessa swinging happily from his right as he and Soren make their way up the cobbled streets and towards the castle gates. 

“Why stay all the way out here?” Callum asks him to kill the silence. “Ezran had to have offered, even after - you know.”

Soren shrugs. “It just didn’t feel right, you know?” He pauses, shifting his grip on his cane as they swing Lessa forward. When he speaks again, his voice is quiet,  _ honest _ \- more honest, even, than Callum had ever heard from him in their youth.“I can’t be on the Crownguard like this,” he says. “I can’t look after Ezran to make up for the things I did for my dad. It wouldn’t be fair to take his offer to stay without paying any of it back. Then there was Claudia and all she wanted was for me to be better, and we weren’t going to find anything that would help up there, especially without dark magic; and then there was the whole thing with our dad and how we only lived there because of him anyway, and he was, you know, kinda crazy...” He grins fondly at Lessa. “This is better.”

Callum chuckles a little and finds that he has to agree. Soren’s grown a lot since he last saw him, and he imagines that has a lot to do with the sudden loss of his mobility. The magical charm he wears on his belt is all that keeps him active now, and it’s effective, sure, but it’s not a permanent solution. Ailas has to help Claudia imbue it with magic every few weeks, and there’s every possibility it might stop working for him tomorrow. It’s a scary thought, even to Callum, and he promises silently to himself that he’ll find a way to help, even if it’s just getting Claudia more resources. 

“Are you really gonna do it?” Soren asks after a minute. “Go through with the marriage thing?”

“Rayla and I are just friends,” says Callum quickly, ducking his head.

“ _ Really.” _

“Really.” 

Soren snorts at him. “You know how it looks to everyone, right?” 

“Has anyone considered how it might look to  _ us _ ?” snaps Callum. It comes out harsher than he means it to, and he relents. “Everyone keeps telling us we’re good together, and that we  _ should  _ do it, and that we’re -” He swallows. “And that we’re  _ in love  _ with each other, but  _ we’ve  _ never talked about that. What if we’re still trying to figure that out? What if  _ I’m  _ still trying to figure that out?”

“Aren’t you in love with her?”

Callum blanches. He’s never been asked so succinctly. “I don’t know,” he mutters - because he doesn’t. Rayla is his best friend; a single constant in a world that’s changing too quickly for itself to keep up; a  _ default. _ The thought that had crossed his mind before - about what his future children might look like - they only reason they had her features was because he’d  _ defaulted _ to her. If they do go through with this - if they  _ do  _ get married, even if it is just for political reasons - he doesn’t want it to be because she’s just his  _ default. _ He wants it to because he loves her, and he wants to be sure that he does. He respects her too much for anything less.

“It’s complicated,” says Callum at last. “Whatever people think is between us… maybe we’ll get there one day, but we’re not there yet. We need time.”

Soren actually laughs at him. “ _ That’s _ what you’re worried about?” he snorts. “ _ Time? _ I mean I get it, but take it from someone who knows how quickly it might run out, Callum.  _ Talk to each other. _ Take a chance. Don’t be a chicken.”

Between them, Lessa nods sagely. “Don’t be a chicken,” she says as well. “Be like Rayla.”

 

x

 

They leave him by the gates.

Soren has to take a minute to rest, and Callum waits with him, wanting to make sure he’ll get home okay before heading in for the night. 

“You can just stay, you know,” he offers. “I can take Lessa home and let Claudia know you won’t be able to make it back.”

“Just for that, I’m not staying,” grumbles Soren, stretching out his back carefully. “I can deal with it. I just need a minute.”

It  _ sucks _ to see him like this. They’ve known each other for years, and while he’d known in his head how badly Soren had been injured, it’s worse seeing it in person. It’s better than it was, Callum knows that, but it still  _ sucks _ , and he feels a wave of guilt wash over him for not trying helping sooner. Soren’s past was misguided, but he was, and still is, a friend, and while Callum knows a considerable amount of magic now, none of it is meant for healing something as severe as the damage to Soren’s back. 

He straightens with a huff after a moment. “I’m good,” he declares finally. “Say bye now, Lessa, it’s time to go home.”

Lessa pouts at him - at them both. “But we just got here!”

“We just came to drop off Callum,” chuckles Soren, a little exasperated by her constant well of energy. “Think of how mad your mom will be if we don’t get home on time. You really want her to be mad?”

“No, I guess not,” she mumbles, but she keeps her eyes down like she wants to cry.

Callum laughs. “Hey,” he says, crouching over for her. “I’ll bring Rayla by soon, okay? But you have to be promise to be good, and that means going home with your Uncle Soren.”

“You promise?”

“Cross my heart,” says Callum. He produces another flower for her and tucks it in her ear. “Until next time, My Lady,” he bids her with a bow.

Lessa giggles despite herself, curtseys to him, and curls her tiny fingers around Soren’s. “Bye Prince Callum,” she mumbles, waving.

“Don’t be a stranger,” adds Soren, clapping Callum’s shoulder and hoisting Lessa off the ground entirely.

“See you.” Callum grins at them both and waves as they head back down the street, his fingers tapping idly against the lid of the bottle of Moonberry cider under his arm. He waits until they round the corner and disappear out of sight before he turns at last. The castle looms over him, a physical reminder of his problems against the darkening sky, and he sucks in a breath. “Don’t be a chicken,” he mutters to himself, crossing under the gate.

He hopes Rayla’s at least willing to talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~Projecting my own cluckiness into fic is a normal thing right? It's not? Fight me.~~
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> Hey Sponty, remember how you wanted Callum to accidentally picture his future kids? This one's going out to you.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We don’t have to talk about it,” he says quickly. “I just… want you to not be mad at me anymore.”

viii.

  


It’s a long night.

Rayla’s not at dinner, which doesn’t surprise him. Her empty chair turns his stomach, and he spends most of the meal pushing food around on his plate. He hears Ezran talking at him, but Callum doesn’t really take a lot of it in - instead, he lets his mind wander; from Lessa and Soren, and whether or not they’ve made it home yet, to the Moonberry cider sitting on his desk and the impending talk he knows he and Rayla have to have.

“You’re not even listening, are you?”

Callum blinks and slides his elbow off the table. “What?”

Ezran rolls his eyes. “Just go talk to her,” he groans, slouching in his chair.

Callum scowls at his brother, feels his shoulders tense defensively and his hackles rising for no other reason than the apprehension building in his bones. “Well, I _would_ ,” he snaps. “But she’s not exactly in the mood to talk to _me_ , is she?”

“So? You miss her, don’t you?”

Ezran says it’s like a fact. He sets his fork down and stares Callum in the face, an earnest frown forming over his brow.

It’s true, Callum realizes. He does miss her. Maybe he hadn’t recognized the feeling, but he can’t deny it. He looks down at his uneaten vegetables before he pushes his plate away entirely and runs a frustrated hand through his hair.

“She misses you,” Ezran tells him. “She won’t admit it, but that’s the problem with you two. You can’t admit to anything.”

“Oh, so you’re an expert now?” Callum drawls.

Ezran makes a face at him, looking unimpressed. “ _Apparently_ ,” he says, obviously disliking Callum’s tone. “You’re _both_ being dumb. Literally _everyone else_ knows what’s going on here.”

“Well, _I_ don’t,” snaps Callum. “I spent my whole day today being told by other people how I feel about her when _I_ don’t even have a handle on it. I don’t need it from you. You’ve done enough to jeopardize our friendship.” It comes out angrier than he intends, but he does little to hide it. He’s had enough, he thinks, of people telling him what he feels and what to do about it. He’s had enough of the fact that Rayla won’t even _talk_ to him, and yeah, maybe he does miss her, her presence, and her touch, and maybe he had been wishing she’d been with him today, but that’s not the same as being _in love_ with her.

That’s something they can’t be told.

That’s something they have to figure out on their own.

Ezran says nothing for a while, but in the end, he sighs. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I know this is hard on you both.”

Callum relents. “I just… want things to go back to how they were,” he mutters. “And I’m scared that they won’t.” He pushes his chair back with a huff. “I’m going to bed,” he grumbles.

Ezran doesn’t stop him.

 

x

 

He doesn’t go to bed.

He almost does - he trudges all the way up to their floor in the West Wing with every intention of shutting himself up in his room and sleeping off his frustration, but it leaves him in a rush when he passes by Rayla’s door. He pauses - stands outside it for gods know how long - before his gut decides what to do before his brain even has the chance to catch up.

He stalks down the hall, snatches the bottle of Moonberry cider off his desk, and returns to Rayla’s door. In total honesty, he hadn’t intended to this so soon, but he’s afraid that if he doesn’t face her now, all hope of getting back to where they were might be gone forever.

He takes a breath and raps his knuckles against the wood.

The silence in the hall is deafening. Too late, he realizes that she might not be in there at all and, even if she is, there’s no guarantee that she’s had enough time to herself to want to talk. He feels his resolve start to crumble as the seconds drag on, but, just as it fades completely, the door swings open and his breath leaves him.

Rayla looks tired. More tired than he’s ever seen her, and there’s an uneasiness in her eyes that almost sends him back into a spiral of guilt.

“Hi,” he greets quietly.

“Hey,” she whispers.

 _Gods_ , he’d missed her voice. Even in their current circumstances, it makes him smile. “Can we - uh -” He purses his lips, a little unsure on how to make the words actually come out of his mouth. “I just - everything’s been so messed up. Can we just take the night off from all of… _that_ and just be friends again? Even if it’s just for tonight?”

She hesitates, but the corners of her lips tilt upwards, just a little, and Callum has to hold in the sigh of relief. She nods at the bottle in his hands. “Is that supposed to be some sort of peace offering?”

“Ah, well.” He offers her sheepish smile. “It can be. But it was always meant for you.”

The tilt in her lips becomes a chuckle, and Rayla stands aside to open the door a little wider for him. “Will you share it with me?”

 _Yes_ , he thinks, but he glances at the guards posted at the top of the staircase and hold his tongue, Eleni’s words ringing through his head like a timely warning:   _You and Her Ladyship should be careful about where you hold your personal discussions._

“Not here,” he murmurs, giving her the bottle completely. “Meet me up on the North Tower. I’m just going to get some stuff.”

She blinks at him, curious, but doesn’t argue.

 

x

 

It’s cold up on the North Tower in the middle of the day - he can only imagine how much worse it’ll be at night, so he takes two cushions from his room in one arm, slings a blanket over the other, and makes a run for the kitchens for a couple of glasses before he climbs all the way back up the tower steps. He dismisses the guards posted in stairwell as he goes. He doesn't want to be overheard tonight.

Rayla’s frowning at the bottle when he climbs out of the trapdoor in the centre of the tower. “Where’d you even get this?” she asks him.

Callum tosses the cushions against the parapet and settles in with a groan.“There’s a shop in the city called _The Wishbone_ ,” he says. “Run by an elf called Ailas.”

Something like recognition crosses her face but it’s hard to tell in the darkness. When he really looks, he decides it looks more like curiosity. “Ailas?”

Callum nods, patting the cushion beside him and motioning for her to sit.

She does, but not without some hesitation. She seems a little too careful not to touch him still, but she doesn’t object when he throws the blanket over both their shoulders and takes the bottle from her to pour them both some cider.

“I wish you’d been there,” he says, sipping lightly from his glass. It's sweet, and the fizziness makes him grimace as it tears down his throat but the alcohol fills him with a warmth that he welcomes against the bitter wind. “Ailas and his family - they’re great. You would have liked them. Lessa, especially.”

“Been making friends, have you?”

Callum laughs, snuggling deeper into the blanket. He tells her about his day; about Ailas and Eleni and the merchandise in _The Wishbone_ ; about Claudia and Soren and how much better off they’ve been since the end of the war; about Lessa and his promise to bring her by soon.

Rayla listens with a tiny, fascinated smile tugging at her lips. It’s the first time since they arrived back in Katolis that everything’s felt _right,_  even if she is still marginally cautious of him and his touch. They get closer as the evening wears on, though. Mostly, it’s unconscious, but there’s a part of Callum that’s missed her warmth; a part of him that actively seeks it after their second - third - _fourth_ glasses of Moonberry cider.

She doesn’t stop him. The cider’s probably the reason this feels so easy, even for her, and, if anything, he thinks that Ezran might have been right and that she’s missed him too. They talk about everything, and about nothing, until the moon is high in the sky and their arms are flush together, the awkward space between them gone at long last.

They’re on their fifth glasses of cider when Rayla leans her cheek against his shoulder, comfortable, tired, and probably just as fuzzy as he’s feeling now. Her hair shines silver in the moonlight; her eyes far-away and luminous in the dark.

Callum’s breath hitches in his throat. He really had missed her, he realizes vaguely. More than he ever thought he would. A whole day without her had felt longer than he ever thought possible, and through the alcohol-induced haze, he decides he never wants to live through that again.

“What happened?” he asks her at last, the words soft as they spill out of his mouth before he can stop them. “What’d I do to mess us up so much?”

She shakes her head against his arm. “It doesn’t matter,” she murmurs, tugging her end of the blanket tighter over her shoulders. He waits for her to continue, but when she doesn’t, he shifts his shoulder just a little so he can look at her better.

“I can’t make sure I don’t do it again if you don’t tell me what I did,” he points out, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

“It’s…” She breathes out a quiet sigh and shuffles away.

Callum regrets it immediately, and he backtracks, certain that he doesn’t want to do this again. “We don’t have to talk about it,” he says quickly. “I just… want you to not be mad at me anymore.”

“I was never mad,” mutters Rayla. “This… arranged marriage thing is just… a lot to consider.”

“Rayla, I -”

“You said we didn’t have to talk about,” she says shortly.

They lapse into silence. Callum feels it coming dangerously close to square one, and he panics, climbs out of the blanket, and scrambles to his feet. The world spins for a moment, and he realizes, for the first time, how much he’s had to drink and how little he’s had to eat. His face is flushed and he struggles to be steady for just a moment. “I know how to make it better,” he says, bending his arms and kicking his legs out even though he _knows_ how much it’ll make him look like an idiot.

Rayla stares at him. “ _What_ are you doing?”

Callum almost doesn’t hear her over the tune playing in his head. “The Jerkface Dance!” he says, stumbling a little as he raises his arms over his head, bobbing up and down and counting the beats under his breath.

“ _Stop."_ Rayla lets out a laugh - a  _real_ one; one that starts as a giggle that turns into a snort that turns into raucous side-splitting laughter that has her burying her face in the blanket to muffle the noise. He almost does, because the job is done and because he knows how stupid he looks, but _gods_ he likes it when she laughs.

“Nope,” he mutters, waving his arms and pumping his knees. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Rayla get up too, and she grabs his shoulders to steady him as he comes almost _too_ close to the edge of the parapet.

“You’re going to get yourself killed, you big dummy,” chuckles Rayla.

“You wouldn’t let that happen though, would you?” Callum grins at her, catching her waist while she’s so close. He holds her to him until they’re swaying on the spot in a lazy, tipsy waltz, forgetting, for an instant, the trouble between them and the implications of being so close.

She’s only taller by her horns now, which she argues counts, and he argues doesn’t. Either way, she has to look up to look into his face, and Callum blinks, realizing how their noses are so close that he can see the last dregs of cider glistening on her lips.

He swallows.

“Rayla,” he whispers. “I think -”

She stops him by pulling away. “I think we should go to bed,” she mumbles, the smile and the laughter suddenly gone from her eyes and replaced with... something else he can't quite name. “It’s late.”

Callum’s breath rushes out of him, his head clearing as he stares at her under the dim light of the waning moon. “Yeah,” he murmurs, disappointed. “I suppose it is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't condone underaged drinking but eighteen is the legal drinking age in Australia which is where I live and that's close enough for me!
> 
> Prompts filled:
> 
> From tumblr user @pc-the-unicorn: Callum doing the Jerk face dance for Rayla in order to apologize for something he did wrong.
> 
> From an anon on tumblr: Callum and Rayla's first date ~~(sort of).~~


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are you going to call _me_ a liar, General?”

ix.

  
  
  
  


Callum walks her back to her room in silence.

They don’t talk about what happened on the tower. Rayla’s almost afraid to bring it up because it means having to admit to the warmth that had bloomed in her chest when he’d held her so close. She’s not an idiot. She’d spent long enough today pining over him to know exactly what this is, and when he’d pulled her to him, his hands on her waist, his eyes landing, for a split second, on her lips, she’d panicked and pulled away, unwilling to fool herself into the hope that there might be something else there.

They’re  _ just _ friends, she reminds herself.

His elbow bumps hers as he tries manoeuvre through the hall with his pillows and blankets bundled in a heap in his arms. His touch still burns but it’s not so bad now. Rayla thinks it might be the leftover alcohol but hopes it might be acceptance of the fact that there’s nothing more to their relationship. It’s not so hard to be around him anymore, and perhaps that’s a sign that their friendship is on its way to a full recovery, so she has that at the very least. She can get over whatever aches and pains she might have in her chest. She  _ can’t _ get over the idea of not being friends with him, and she’d rather let him go completely than risk  _ that _ .

They pause at her door. 

Callum shifts the bundle of manchester under one arm. “Are… we okay?”

Despite herself, Rayla smiles. “We’re okay,” she says quietly. She wants them to be anyway, and she’ll do everything in her power to make sure that they are.

He smiles too, relieved. It makes her heart thump loudly against her ribs. “So… I’ll see you in the morning?”

“You will,” she promises, touching his hand the way she hopes she always has been, and not in any way that might give her away. “G’night.”

“G’night Rayla.” He squeezes her fingers gently, offers her one last still sort-of tipsy smile, and heads backwards down the hall.

Rayla watches him go, waiting for him to disappear into his own room before she shuts her door at last. She presses her back against it, slides against the wood until she’s sitting on the cold stone floor, and sighs into her hands. “It’s fine,” she mutters to herself, willing it to be because it  _ has  _ to be. It’s been fine for two years, there’s no reason anything has to change now. “It’s fine. I can do this. _ It’s fine. _ ”

(It’s not, but it’ll only hurt her if she lets it - and she refuses to let it. Callum’s friendship is worth that.  _ Callum  _ is worth that).

 

x

 

They go to breakfast together the next morning.

Rayla likes to think she’s grown used to the stares she gets around the castle, but there’s something different today. They don’t seem wary of her, they seem…  _ curious _ . Of what, she’s not entirely sure. She ignores them for the most part, and it’s easy with Callum beside her again. 

He chatters all the way down to the dining hall; makes silly jokes that make her laugh and plans to visit Ailas and his family later this afternoon, this time, with her. He hardly notices the way the guards look at them, like they know something he and she don’t. He’s just happy they’re okay again, and Rayla can’t even blame him for it.

Yesterday was  _ hard _ . So hard, she’d made the decision to just  _ deal  _ with it - their relationship, whatever  _ it  _ is to him, whatever  _ it  _ means to her - because she’d rather this pain over the pain of doing  _ that _ all over again.  _ This  _ is easy compared to wandering the castle grounds and braving those looks on her own; compared to convincing herself that everything’s fine with no external assurance of it apart from Vorobey, who is a horse she can have only half a conversation with. 

_ This _ is much better, she thinks, as they nudge each other into the dining hall and take their usual seats across from each other and greet Ezran good morning the way they always have, the thought of their potential marriage almost entirely forgotten - at least until Ezran fixes her with a  _ look _ , one eyebrow raised, chin resting on his his knuckles, lips quirked in an  _ almost _ -smirk that asks her silently if they’ve finally figured themselves out.

Rayla presses her lips together; offers him the tiniest shake of her head -  _ sort of, not really, it’s complicated  _ \- and turns back to her breakfast, staring a little too hard at the jar of jam in front of Callum before she has the sense to actually reach for it.

“Soooo…” says Ezran carefully, frowning between the two of them. “Everything’s… back to normal?”

“Uh, yeah,” says Callum, nodding eagerly. “Yeah, everything’s great. And if you don’t need us here later, I was going to take Rayla to  _ The Wishbone _ .”

“You know about  _ The Wishbone _ ?” asks Ezran, excited. “You guys are usually so busy when you’re here, I’m so glad you found it on your own!”

“Actually, Claudia took me,” Callum tells him. “I didn’t realize she still visited so often. I mean I knew she and Soren weren’t staying in the castle anymore, so when she found me yesterday - it was a surprise.”

Ezran ducks his head. “Sorry I didn’t tell you,” he mutters. “I wasn’t sure if - after all the stuff that happened, I wasn’t sure if you wanted to know.”

“No, it was good,” says Callum. “We caught up, hung out in  _ The Wishbone _ for a while. It was a good afternoon.” A little smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, and Rayla takes in a surreptitious breath and goes back to staring at the jam.

It’s fine, she thinks. This is fine. It’s fine. 

“Anyway,” continues Callum. “If it’s okay with you, I wanted to take Rayla later. I think she’ll like it.”

“‘Course it’s fine with me,” says Ezran, shrugging. “You guys can do whatever you like. It just sucks I can’t go with you.” He groans childishly and pouts into his juice. “Being King sucks.”

“Next time, Ez,” chuckles Callum. He helps himself to the fruit in the middle of the table as the dining hall doors swing open and General Balan strides in, his jaw clenched shut, his eyes hard.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” he says, bowing to Ezran, “but this is unacceptable. The rumours are getting out of hand. This can’t continue.”

Rayla can practically see the physical effort Ezran has to put into keeping his face straight. He rolls his eyes. “What are you on about  _ now _ , Balan?”

Balan jabs an armoured finger at Rayla and scowls. “It has come to my attention that  _ Her Ladyship _ is already romantically involved with Prince Callum.” He spits the title and glares, disgusted by the very idea. 

He’s answered by silence at first, and maybe it’s just because it’s been such hard couple of days or just the emotional turmoil she’s been dealing with, or maybe she just  _ really  _ dislikes Balan, but in the end Rayla  _ laughs _ . Ezran raises an eyebrow at her, and Callum stares, unsure how to react, but Rayla’s had enough, she thinks. The fact that the thought is  _ still _ prompting this reaction after three years of hard work; the fact that Balan thinks it’s any of his business to begin with; the fact that there  _ isn’t  _ actually a romance there, no matter how much she wants there to be - it’s hilarious to her in the most mirthless way imaginable.

“Where  _ do  _ you get your ideas, General?” she asks, wiping a tear away from her eye. 

“Why,  _ you _ , My Lady,” he snarls, storming towards her. “Did you  _ not  _ spend the night on the North Tower with His Highness last night? Did he  _ not  _ dismiss the guards posted there for your privacy? Are you trying to say he did all this and all you did was, what,  _ talk _ ?”

“Do you think perhaps he dismissed them because this reaction might be  _ worse _ if he hadn’t?” snaps Rayla. She gets to her feet as he approaches, one hand her hip, the fingers on the other twitching towards the blades at her back. “Imagine what might have happened if they’d stayed,” she drawls. “Imagine all the juicy details you and your little guards might have to gossip about.”

“You don’t deny it.”

Rayla snorts. “What would be the point in that?” she snaps. “You’d only accuse me of being a liar  _ and  _ a who-”

“ _ That’s enough _ .”

Callum’s in front of her all of a sudden, his hand on Balan’s breastplate to keep him from coming any closer. Rayla hadn’t even noticed him get up. “I’m going to deny it,” he seethes. “Are you going to call  _ me  _ a liar, General?”

Balan falters.

“We talked,” Callum snaps. “That’s  _ all _ .”

Balan scowls at him. “This behaviour is doing nothing for your reputation, Your Highness. It can’t continue.”

“You should see what this behaviour’s doing to  _ yours _ .” Callum gives him an unfriendly smirk and shoves him back. There’s a threat in his voice, and Rayla is suddenly and violently reminded of what he’s capable of as an Archmage. “Is there anything else?”

Balan fumes, his face red enough to match his cape, but he says nothing and turns on his heel. Rayla watches him go over Callum’s shoulder, her heart pounding too quickly and too loudly in her ears. She pushes past him, her breath uneven, whatever plans they might have had for the day disappearing in her anger. 

Callum stops her with a hand on her wrist. His breath is heavy too, but his fingers are gentle. “Sorry about him,” he mumbles. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” snaps Rayla. Fine, like everything else. Bloody  _ dandy _ . 

“He was out of line, Rayla,” says Ezran quietly. “I’ll talk to him.”

“Because he listens to  _ you _ , does he?”

Callum’s fingers squeeze around her wrist. “Rayla. Come on.”

Behind her, Ezran touches her elbow, and she relents. He’s being the best King he can be, but she knows better than anyone that trying your hardest might not make a difference for the most stubborn. “Sorry, Ez,” she mumbles. “I shouldn’t have snapped.”

“Don’t worry about it,” says Ezran with a smile. “You guys should go. Spend some time away from the castle. I’ll take care of Balan.” 

Callum blinks and shakes his head. “Whoa, hey, by yourself?”

“What’s he gonna do?” laughs Ezran. “I’m the King. Go. It’ll be fine.” 

 

x

 

Balan’s still fuming when he bursts into the Crow Lord’s tower, scrunched letter in hand. 

The  _ nerve  _ of that  _ elf.  _ How  _ dare  _ she? How  _ dare  _ they? Callum may be a Prince and an Archmage, but he had no business disrespecting him over an  _ elf. _ Balan didn’t spend decades sending his forces to the Breach to keep the Pentarchy safe for  _ this. _

He hurls the letter at the Crow Master with a scowl. “Where’s the Crow Lord?” he snaps.

The Crow Master arches an eyebrow at him. “Um - in - in Evenere for business, General,” he stammers. “Who am I sending this to?”

Balan scowls. “General Amaya,” he sneers. “I need it sent to her as soon as possible.”

The Crow Master studies him, the corners of his mouth pulling downwards in uncertainty, but he doesn’t object. “I can have it done this afternoon, General.”

“Good,” Balan snaps. “And I want to be notified as soon as she responds.”

“Yes, sir.”

Balan huffs, his displeasure settling just a little. If the boys won’t listen, fine. They’ll listen to Amaya. And, at the very least, Amaya will listen to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it's not busy on tonight's shift, you guys might get one more within the day. Wish me luck!!
> 
> Prompts filled: 
> 
> From tumblr user @thethiefandtheairbender: ANYTHING with callum/rayla being protective over each other.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What are we even doing this for, Callum? What’s the point?"

x.

  


Rayla doesn’t often take insults from people like Balan to heart but it’s not surprising that she does so today. Usually, on this side of the border, it’s Rayla who keeps her cool; Rayla who calms him down and convinces him to let it go, even when _she’s_ the one who’s been wronged. Today, she storms through the castle, throwing doors open in her wake, scowling at every guard who so much as looks at her wrong, while Callum trails after her muttering apologies to innocent passersby.

In all fairness, he’s pretty peeved off too. He’d always known Balan was… a tad _old fashioned_ , to put it politely, but what happened in the dining hall was a step too far. Rayla doesn’t need him to defend her, but he’d interfered anyway because he’d seen her hand opening and closing by her side like she was ready to start throwing punches. As satisfying as it would have been to see it, the situation between elves and humans is precarious enough without that sort of stress.

He waits until they’re in the privacy of the stables before he reaches for her at last. “Hey,” he says quietly, tugging her back and putting both of his hands on her shoulders. He studies her face and her posture, feels the tension set in her shoulders and hears the way her breath shakes as she lets it out. Callum doesn’t think he’s ever seen her so _angry_ , and he can’t even ask her to calm down, or to let it go, or convince her that everything’s okay, because she has every right _and more_ to be pissed off. “Tell me what to do,” he manages at last, because there’s nothing else he can say and this is all he can offer. “Tell me what to do to make you feel better and I’ll do it.”

She shrugs his hands off. “It’s fine,” she says shortly. “It’s - don’t worry about it. It’s fine.”

“It’s _not_ .”  He hurries around her to block her off before she can stalk away, a grim determination rising in his chest. “He can’t treat you like that. _No one_ should be able to treat you like that, and - Rayla, I get it, okay? We’ve worked too long and too hard to get up in arms about it now, but there _has_ to be something -”

“There’s not,” she snaps. “What are we even doing this for, Callum? What’s the point? People like Balan are always going to exist and nothing _we_ do is ever going to change their minds - not even if we go through with Ezran’s stupid plan. I’m tired of this.”

“Hey - look at me.” He rubs her shoulders again with both hands and slides them up to cup her face, his thumbs brushing the edges of the warrior’s marks on her cheeks. “It’s worth it, Rayla. I promise you, it is. I’ve _seen_ it.”

“I _haven’t._ ” She won’t look at him. “All I’ve seen is _fighting_ and _prejudice_ over the stupidest things, and Callum - we’ve been doing this _three years_ and _nothing’s_ changed. People and elves still hate each other. Why even bother?”

Callum ducks his head and tilts her face towards him, trying to catch her eye. She lets him, reluctantly, the hardness in her stare dissipating as she meets his gaze. “You should have been with me yesterday,” he says quietly. “Things are changing for the better, and people like Balan can’t stop it. Giving up now will.”

It’s not until she touches his hands that he realizes how close he’s brought them. Something builds inside him - an urge to bring them closer still, to press his lips against her forehead and hold her to him until her anger leaves her completely. It makes his heart hammer in his chest and his breath hitch in his throat -

But she tugs his hands away from her face and he doesn’t get the chance.

“Rayla?”

“Let’s just go,” she murmurs, pushing past him and taking a saddle off the rack between the stalls. “I can’t be here today.”

 

x

 

She calls the filly Vorobey.

Callum can hear her muttering to her as she saddles her. He’s never been particularly good at horse riding himself and, in the past they’ve been happy to share, but there’s a sense of privacy in Vorobey’s stall, like Rayla can confide in her more comfortably than she can confide in him as she mounts up. Reluctant to interrupt, Callum leaves her to it, wandering a couple of stalls down to a gentle-looking mare.

They saddle up in relative silence. Every now and then, Callum glances at her out of the corner of his eye, watching the way she goes about making ready and the swift precision of her actions. She and Vorobey seem fond of each other. There’s a familiarity between them that he doesn’t have with any of the horses in this stable, and Callum wonders to himself if she was the filly Ezran had wanted to introduce Rayla to.

Rayla finishes up faster than he does. She mounts up and urges Vorobey outside without waiting for him, and Callum scrambles to catch up with her. His own mare is sweet-tempered, used to being ridden and forgiving when he pulls too tightly on her reigns on his way up. When they trot outside, Rayla’s agitation is mirrored in the way Vorobey stamps with her front hooves.

“Lead the way, then,” she says shortly, tugging gently on Vorobey’s reigns. There’s an odd sort of apprehension in her shoulders, Callum notes as he eases the mare past, but he doesn’t ask.

He pulls forward, reigns wrapped tightly in his hands, a little afraid of falling off. They head off, Callum with caution, Rayla with grace, her hair fluttering behind her in the breeze as they ride into town. The crowds in the city part as they pass. Every now and then, someone frowns at them - more correctly, at Rayla - and Callum catches the way she draws her hood over her head as they ride.

He wishes they were walking. At least then, he’d be steady enough to ward off the looks.

It’s a not too long a ride - faster than walking, certainly, but it feels longer than it is because of the way Callum clings to his mare. Relief floods his system when the storefront of _The Wishbone_ comes into view. He slides off the mare, foot almost catching the saddle as he dismounts. “Come on,” he says to Rayla, tugging the mare the rest of the way.

Rayla follows him, her hood still up, her eyes downcast like she’s dreading what might be inside. They leave the horses out front, and Callum ushers her inside first, his hand at the small of her back.

Claudia’s behind the counter today, and she greets them with a grin. “Back so soon?” she asks, stepping around the counter.

Callum grins back, his shoulders relaxing a little now that they’re out of the open. He accepts the hug that Claudia offers him and tugs Rayla forward, the glare gone from her face at last as her hood falls and she examines the inside of the shop.

Claudia’s grin widens, but she steps back and offers Rayla a polite curtsey. “Lady Rayla,” she greets.

Rayla blinks, catches sight of Claudia, a flicker a of confusion and uncertainty crossing her face before it turns into a look of disgust. “ _Never_ call me that again,” she says drily. But her lips twitch upwards a little as she takes her in. Callum grins at them, pleased. He doesn’t think they’ve ever had the opportunity be properly introduced, and while Claudia and Soren had spent an amount of time chasing them down before they returned Zym, neither of them were bad people, and it’s nice to see them in the same room as Rayla without them trying to kill each other.

“How - uh - how are you?” Rayla asks her after a minute.

Claudia has none of it. "Oh, come here,” she laughs, pulling her into a hug. “It’s good to see you.”

“Is it?” asks Rayla, still a little uneasy. “The last time you saw me, we were on opposite sides.”

“And we’re not now,” says Claudia. “Look how well you’ve been looking after Callum! How can I resent you knowing that?” She grins and pulls back. “Come with me. I know a certain little girl who’s going to lose her mind that you’re here.”

 

x

 

Lessa loses her mind, all right.

Her eyes go wide as Claudia leads them both onto the landing of Ailas and Eleni’s apartment, and she abandons the tea party she’s having with her mother entirely to stare in awe at Rayla.

“Lady Rayla,” she murmurs, curtseying gracelessly.

Whatever irritation Rayla might have had leftover from breakfast leaves her in a rush, her lips pulling into a delighted smile as she crouches in front of Lessa. “You don’t have to call me that, little one,” she says. “Just Rayla’s fine. You must be the little Lady Lessa. Prince Callum’s told me all about you.”

Lessa nods eagerly, golden eyes filled with admiration. Inwardly, Callum thinks that it’s a little unfair how much Lessa likes her. Yesterday, she’d been determined to hide behind Soren until she decided he was worth liking. There’s none of that today. She has eyes for no one else as she toddles forward to grasp Rayla’s fingers in hers. “Will you have tea with me and my Momma?”

“Of course!” says Rayla, allowing herself to be pulled forward. “It’d be rude to refuse an invitation from such a distinguished Lady.”

“Guess I can say goodbye to being her favourite aunt,” mutters Claudia under her breath.

Callum snorts. “I don’t think anyone really had a chance against Rayla,” he chuckles, watching them fondly.

“Probably.” Claudia rolls her eyes and heads for the kitchen. “Can I get you some tea?”

Callum tears his eyes from them. “Tea would be great.”

 

x

 

“You seem quiet,” Claudia says, setting his tea in front of him.

He’s sitting at Ailas and Eleni’s dining table. In truth, he’d been watching Rayla.

She’s at the little table in their living room with Lessa chatting happily away in her lap. It’s the first time he’s looked at her since breakfast that she hasn’t had a scowl fixed on her lips, and the first time she’s looked properly at ease since Ezran had given them his proposition. She’s pretty when she smiles - something he thinks he’s always known, but something he only admits to himself now because she’s been so stressed the past couple of days.

“Quiet how?”

Claudia shrugs, settling in the seat opposite him. “Tough morning?”

Callum snorts. “Little bit,” he mutters into his teacup.

“I won’t ask, then,” chuckles Claudia. She drops a sugar cube into her tea and rests her chin in her palm.  “I remember when you used to look at me like that.”

Callum almost chokes on his tea. “S-sorry?”

She smiles at him, wistful and knowing, rueful and happy, all at once. “Back before the war ended - when no one knew when it might end - my dad told me to come to terms with the idea that I might end up having to marry you one day. It made sense, right? I was a nobleman’s daughter, you were the step-prince with an obvious crush.” She smirks at him.

“I was just a kid,” mutters Callum, hiding the flush on his cheeks with his teacup.

Claudia chuckles. “It’s only been three years, Callum.” She sighs and slurps at her tea. “I didn’t hate the idea, you know? You were a sweet kid and we were friends. And me, being a nobleman’s daughter - any marriage I would have had would have been political, and marrying you probably would have been the best case scenario.”

“Thanks…? I think?”

She laughs. “I don’t want to tell you what you’re feeling,” she says carefully. “But you need to think about this. _Really_ think about this, and whether or not you - _both_ of you - think it’s as bad as you think it is, or as good as Ez says it might be. And - before you say anything - I know. You haven’t had the chance to really think about it or talk about it. _But_ , here’s the thing: Ezran’s your brother. He would _never_ ask you to do anything that would make you unhappy.” She pauses and nods at Rayla. “Would a life with Rayla make you unhappy?”

The question is heavy, and it settles in Callum’s stomach like lead. He knows what the answer is, he thinks, but he’s hesitant to admit it because he knows what Claudia’s next question will be: _why?_

He doesn’t think he’s ever been introspective enough to answer that.

Claudia chuckles at him. “It’s just something to think about,” she says when he says nothing. She sips delicately at her tea and gets up to join Lessa’s tea party, leaving Callum speechless and alone at the dining table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey so a bunch of people keep telling me that they think it's amazing I update so quick but GUYS
> 
> YOU'RE THE AMAZING ONES! You have been nothing but supportive and encouraging and I update so quickly to say THANKS. I mean damn!! This is literally the most supportive fandom I've ever been in, and I do it because there's no other way to show you my gratitude for all your kind words! 
> 
> You guys are honestly amazing and I love you all, please accept my offerings, it's all I have!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You can’t tell him,” she mutters. “He can’t know.”

xi.

  
  
  


“What’s Xadia like?”

It’s Claudia who asks, and Rayla’s hands still in Lessa’s hair. They’re on the cushioned chaise lounge in the corner of Ailas and Eleni’s living room, Lessa in front of her, her little fingers combing the tangles out of a doll’s hair, Claudia behind her, perched carefully on the raised backrest as she braids Rayla’s silver locks. It’s Lessa’s idea. Eleni had gotten up a while ago to start on lunch with Callum’s help and Lessa had insisted. She’d been enjoying the attention, and despite the newness of their…  _ friendship _ for this sort of familiarity, who were they to refuse such a sweet little Lady?

Rayla hums thoughtfully. “It’s different,” she says, tying off a braid in Lessa’s hair. “Not any more vibrant or beautiful - I’ve seen enough of the human kingdoms now to know that being on this side of the border doesn’t immediately make something less good. It’s just different.”

“That’s not what Ailas says,” chuckles Claudia. “I asked him once. He makes Xadia sound like this unreal place, where magic is everywhere you look. Whenever he goes and he brings back stuff for the shop, it’s always really fascinating to go through it all beforehand.”

“Not for dark magic I hope.” Rayla means it as a joke, but too late she wonders if perhaps it’s a little early in their relationship for it.

Claudia laughs anyway, unoffended. “No, I’m done with that,” she chuckles. “Dark magic is… expensive, comparatively.”

“How so?”

Claudia takes her own turn to pause, her fingers deft and gentle as she tugs on the hair behind Rayla’s ears. “Callum describes it as a shortcut,” she says finally. “And it is, for the little things. You could take something magical and use it’s life force for convenience. From a certain perspective,  _ that’s  _ already plenty expensive, but for something as serious as Soren’s back, it’s  _ much, _ much worse. It took a lot of magical energy, and a lot of physical energy -” Her fingers pause as she shakes out her bun, pins between her teeth, to show Rayla the white streaks that run through her hair. “It took a lot out of me. I still don’t really know what sort of long term effects it might have had, and, even then, the longer I did it to help Soren, the less effective it was, you know?”

“Oh.” Rayla presses her lips together, a little unsure on how to respond. “I’m… sorry, I guess.”

“Don’t apologise,” laughs Claudia, returning to her work. “I didn’t know. My dad used to say it wasn’t any different from eating meat or using leather. It is, though. When someone hunts for food, they do it for sustenance, not convenience, and when it came down to it, I don’t think he ever considered the cost it might have on him. Plus, when you get to know someone as sweet as Lessa, it doesn’t ever really cross your mind again. Isn’t that right, sweetie?”

Lessa giggles, turning her head just slightly to give them a happy grin.

“Can we help?” asks Rayla after a moment. “Callum told me. About how the charm Ailas made for Soren might stop working someday.”

Claudia sighs wistfully. “Not really,” she says, and Rayla can hear the note of remorse in her voice. “There might be something more effective in Xadia, but after all the things I’ve done, I dunno that we’ll ever get that chance to look for ourselves. Don’t feel bad, though,” she adds quickly. “Things are already better for us, and in part, it’s because you and Callum made it possible for Ailas to open up shop here to begin with. You’ve helped plenty.”

Rayla shakes her head, unsatisfied. She understands now, why Claudia and Callum had been such good friends in their youth; understands, even, why he’d had - might still have, she corrects herself - a crush on her. She’s not a bad person. Everything she’d done, she’d done because she thought it would help people, and she didn’t realize, at the time, how fargone her father already was. She’d watched him, had learnt from his mistakes, and she and Soren are better off for it now, even if it did mean such significant fall from grace. 

“You know, I came pretty close to giving up on this ambassador thing today,” Rayla admits to her quietly.

“ _ What _ ? Why?”

Rayla shrugs. “Just some things General Balan said.”

Claudia snorts at her, not in the least bit surprised. “Ooh, I always hated that guy,” she says. “Treated everyone like they were beneath him. Seriously can’t believe Ezran hasn’t fired him.”

“He hasn’t done anything wrong. Not technically, anyway.” Rayla shrugs once more, but she doesn’t hide the fact that she’s amused. It’s nice to know it isn’t just her. “In any case, once this dumb arranged marriage thing blows over, we’ll take you. To Xadia, I mean.”

Claudia lets out a laugh. “Would you really?” she says, sounding breathless in disbelief, sincerity, and gratitude all at once. It’s enough to convince Rayla that this bridge is mended once and for all. “I think we might take you up on that.” She ties off Rayla’s braid at last and pats her shoulders. “All done! What do you think, Lessa?”

Lessa swivels around. Her face splits into a grin, her golden eyes filling with admiration only a three year old might have, before she claps her hands excitedly. “You made Lady Rayla so pretty!”

“She’s always pretty,” says Claudia with a pleased smile. She takes a pin from between her lips and uses it to fix a stray lock of hair behind Rayla’s ear, just as Callum steps out of the kitchen with a tray of roast potatoes. “Isn’t she pretty, Callum?”

Callum falters. Flushes. Stares for just a moment too long before he ducks his gaze and looks down at the tray. “Um. Yeah,” he murmurs. “She is.”

 

x

 

It’s nice, Rayla thinks, to have company  _ other _ than Callum. It’s not something she’s ever really considered because, until now, she’s never needed company  _ other  _ than Callum. It’s a little bit their own fault and a little bit everyone else’s (mostly everyone else’s) but they’ve been travelling together and looking after each other for so long that they haven’t really needed anyone else. She’s grown used to him, and he to her, but in the complexity of their… situation, Claudia’s company is refreshing.

There’s one thing that bothers her, though. She’s hesitant to bring it up.

Claudia does it for her when Callum heads downstairs to help Eleni with the shop.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she says quietly, careful not to disturb Lessa who’s curled up and half asleep against Rayla’s chest. “There’s nothing to worry about. That ship sailed a long time ago.”

Rayla blinks at her, trying to feign confusion, but she looks away too fast and gives herself away. She can’t have been that obvious,  _ surely _ . She’d spent the day wearing out Lessa - she hasn’t even had the chance to  _ speak _ to Callum, let alone make the nature of her feelings for him obvious to anyone. 

Claudia offers her a kind smile. “What, you think I didn’t notice? I see the way you look at him.”

Rayla swallows, but Lessa’s so comfortable and sleepy now that she can’t even get up to escape this conversation. “You can’t tell him,” she mutters. “He can’t know.”

“Why?”

Rayla hesitates. She shifts her hold on Lessa, hoping secretly that she might wake so they can talk about something else. Stares at the stairwell wondering if Eleni, or even Callum, might come back upstairs so she can avoid this conversation. They don’t. She sighs and brushes Lessa’s hair out of her face. “We’re just friends,” she tells Claudia finally. “I’m not ruining that.”

“What on earth makes you think you’ll ruin it?”

“I -” Rayla cuts herself off. She winces, her breath hitching in her throat, her heart pounding so loudly in her chest that she’s sure she’ll disturb Lessa. There’s panic building in her system, because Claudia’s caught her out, and Claudia catching her out is a danger to the facade she’s been trying so hard to rebuild. “I’m not risking it.  _ Please _ , Claudia, he can’t know.”

“But - Rayla -”

“ _ No _ .” She sucks in a shuddering breath and the panic gets the better of her, the words spilling out of her like a burst dam, like she’s been waiting to talk to someone -  _ anyone _ \- about the ache in her chest, and the mess she’s found herself in. “It hurts,” she admits quietly. “It does. But he looked ready to start a fight with Balan this morning just for insulting me. Can you even imagine how he might react if he thought for a minute that  _ he _ was the one causing me pain? He can’t fix this - not in any way that would help.” Something creaks in the shop, and Rayla’s breath catches in her throat, her eyes flitting to the stairs like she’s afraid Callum might appear at any moment. She sighs when he doesn’t. “I already put myself through a whole day without him and - Claudia, I can’t do that again. I _ won’t _ do that again, because I know what it did to me, and I know what it did to  _ him _ . He’s  _ happy _ thinking we’re just friends, and him being happy is all I want, even if it kills me, okay?”

She kind of expects Claudia to be shocked, or surprised, or something - but she’s none of those, and instead, she smiles like she expected nothing else. “You really do love him, don’t you?”

Rayla doesn’t think she’s ever really admitted it to herself in so many words, let alone someone else. Something like anguish crosses her face because it  _ does _ hurt, and it hurts more acknowledging it and knowing it’s unrequited. 

But there’s no denying it now. Not to Claudia, who’d seen past her carefully crafted walls and who’s looking at her now with a soft understanding she didn’t realize she needed from someone else.

“Yeah,” she whispers at last. “I do.”

 

x

 

They head back to the castle in the late afternoon.

Claudia hugs them both and presses a rounded piece of glass about the size of her palm into Rayla’s hands. There are runes inscribed on the edges, and Rayla squints at it, unsure what it is.

“Write into it if you need to talk,” Claudia tells her quietly. 

It doesn’t matter - Callum’s only standing a couple of feet away and they can see the way he pauses to listen, but Rayla’s fingers close around it regardless. 

“Thank you,” she murmurs, accepting one more hug from her. “We’ll visit again soon, probably.”

“You’d better.” Claudia grins at them both and waves as they mount up, Rayla on Vorobey, Callum a little unsteadily on his mare. “See you,” she bids.

They set off with another wave, side by side this time, knees bumping together as they urge the horses towards the castle. The end of her braid bounces gently against her shoulder as they ride, and she feels Callum’s eyes fall on her once, twice - three times, before she rolls her eyes and gives him a  _ look _ .

“What?”

Callum flushes, but he takes a slow breath, untangles one of his hands from the reigns, and touches the end of her braid. “You look nice,” he says quietly.  

The proximity of his hands to her face feels almost too much for her, and she nudges Vorobey away and keeps her eyes on her mane. The little glass tablet feels heavy in her pocket, a reminder that she has someone to talk to later, if she needs it, and she finds herself grateful for her newfound friendship with Claudia once more. “Thanks,” she mutters.

“Do you feel better?”

A little, she thinks. She’s still mad at Balan, but her admission to Claudia keeps replaying in her head. 

She loves him.

She  _ loves _ him.

And he doesn’t love her. Not in the same way.

“Yeah,” she lies at last. “Much.”

 

x

 

Amaya receives the letter in the evening.

She frowns at Balan’s handwriting; reads over it twice before she actually takes it in, thinking she might have misunderstood - but the words are clear:

_ King Ezran intends for Prince Callum to marry the elf. _

She gets up. 

_ Make ready to leave _ , she signs to Gren.  _ We need to be in Katolis. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all can pry Rayla and Claudia's future friendship out of my cold dead hands.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We’re pretty close for ‘just friends’, Callum.”

xii.

  


“You took your braid out.”

“So I did.”

“Oh.” It’s a shame, Callum thinks, but he doesn’t say it out loud.  It looked nice on her. Not that he’d gone out of his way to notice - nor is it to say that she doesn’t always look nice - but it did look nice, and he’ll admit that much happily.

They’re on their way to breakfast this morning. Rayla’s hair still has leftover waves from the braid Claudia had put into it, and it falls around her face in a curtain of silver that makes it hard to look away. He’s glad he’d taken her out to _The Wishbone_ yesterday - she’d needed it, he thinks, and she seems altogether much less tense than she has been, but it’s _his_ shoulders that are stiff now as Claudia’s words sit heavy in his head:

_Would a life with Rayla make you unhappy?_

The answer is no. No, it wouldn’t. He’d known that when she’d asked it, but the _why_ of it has been playing on his mind all night and he still doesn’t have an answer. He shrugs his shoulders, trying to push the question out of his mind for even just a moment of peace only for it to be replaced, instead, but Ezran muttering curses to himself when they let themselves into the dining hall.

“ _Whoa_ , there, Your Majesty,” says Rayla, her tone dry and amused.  “Those are hardly words a young King should be using.”

Ezran scowls at them both and thrusts a letter into Callum’s face.

Callum frowns at it. He knows who it’s from before he even looks at the broken seal at the edge of the parchment - his Aunt’s handwriting is unmistakable - but whatever pleasant feelings a surprise letter from Aunt Amaya might have inspired are lost as he skim-reads her letter.

He blanches at the final line.

_Commander Gren and I expect to be in Katolis within the week to congratulate Prince Callum on his apparent engagement._

It’s honestly amazing how much sarcasm Aunt Amaya can put into a letter.

Callum presses his lips together. He hands the parchment off to Rayla, watches her eyes widen as she reads it, and holds back a mirthless laugh when she brandishes it at Ezran looking mortified.

“ _What_ ,” she snarls, “in the name of the _bloody moon_ is this supposed to be?”

“What it looks like,” says Ezran sharply. “ _Someone_ told Aunt Amaya about your ‘ _apparent engagement_ ’ and now she’s coming here to _‘congratulate_ ’ you both, by which I think she means she’s not happy and she’s coming to talk you out of it.” He snatches the letter back from Rayla with another scowl.

“There’s nothing to talk us out of,” snaps Rayla. “We haven’t agreed to anything. There _is_ no engagement.”

Callum grimaces; rubs his hands over his face and breathes slowly into steepled fingers, trying to keep his patience. “Who even knows that would tell her?”

Ezran snorts at him. “You know exactly who.”

There’s a pause.

Then Rayla snarls. There have been a couple of times already where Callum’s seen the way her hands have twitched towards her her blades, both out of habit and out of frustration, but when they twitch this time, she actually _does_ reach for them, and she flicks one into its sword form before Callum has the sense to even think about stopping her.

“I’m going to _murder_ him,” she seethes, turning on her heel.

“Whoa! Rayla!” Callum seizes her elbow and tugs her back to him, fingers prying hers from the hilt of her blade one at a time. “Hey, it’s not that bad, okay? You’ve met Aunt Amaya.”

“She tried to _kill_ me once.”

“So did Claudia, and now look how much you like each other.” He eases the weapon from her entirely, flicks the blade back into its hilt, and presses it back into her hands. Her fingers are soft; something he’d never noticed despite all the times he’s held them. He lingers for just a moment too long before Rayla tugs her hand out of his grip to put the weapon away and he remembers his question. “When’s she supposed to get here?” he asks Ezran.

Ezran glances back down at the letter. “It just says within the week.”

Callum grimaces a little. ‘Within the week’ could mean anything - she might turn up this afternoon if the messenger bird this letter was sent with took a detour on the way to Katolis. In any case, this visit has been stressful enough for Rayla, and he reaches for her hands again, determined to ease her nerves. He tells himself that it’s what he would normally do, and not at all because he wants to know if her skin has always been that soft or if it’s a brand new development. “Let me teach you to sign,” he offers at last. “It’ll help.”

“What, so I can _understand_ her when she insults me?”

“ _Rayla._ ” Callum sighs patiently, his thumbs rubbing circles into the backs of her hands. “You trust me, right?”

She scoffs, meeting his gaze for a second before she looks away and pulls her hands out of his. Callum thinks he catches a flicker of… _something_ in her eyes, but it’s gone when she shrugs. “I suppose.”

“It’ll help,” says Callum with a smile. “I promise.”

 

x

 

They end up on the North Tower again, sitting cross legged and facing each other in the same spot they’d camped out in the other night. He hadn’t dismissed the guards this time, but Rayla had enjoyed the way he’d taunted them before he slammed the trapdoor shut:

“I’m teaching Her Ladyship _sign language_ in case any of you want to gossip to General Balan,” he’d snapped, and Rayla had hidden a snort in her hand.

He starts her off on easy phrases - _hello, nice to meet you, please don’t call me that_ on Rayla’s request, because she knows from the get-go that formality means General Amaya might refer to her as _Lady Rayla_ to her face, and she’d really rather she _didn’t_. She catches on easily enough, but they run into problems when he tries to teach her the alphabet.

“I don’t think this was meant for people with four fingers,” she says drily.

Callum grimaces. “I mean,” he says, signing as he speaks to help her pick it up faster. “It’s not the worst case scenario. She can read lips just fine, and she’ll get what you’re trying to say.”

“I could just not,” says Rayla pointedly. Callum signs that for her too, and she tries to follow along. “I realize it’s the effort that counts, but I don’t want to accidentally say something rude, either.”

“Yeah, that’d probably be good,” snorts Callum. “You’re doing really well though!” He leans over to correct the positioning of her hands, his fingers lingering a little too long, his face coming a little too close.

Rayla tries not to wince, her heart pounding in her chest like it wants him to notice. It’ll pass, she tells herself, fighting the urge to pull away. In some ways, admitting to her feelings has made it easier, because at least, now, she understands why this is so hard in its entirety. In other ways, it’s made it harder still, because he’s only grown _more_ casually affectionate since the other night, and she’s had to spend the whole time pretending his touch doesn’t kill her.

He pauses. “Are you okay?” he asks, hands stilling, frown forming on his brow. He leans over again, this time to brush the still sort-of wavy hair out of her face.

Rayla swallows, and actually does pull away. “Fine,” she says, signing it as a reminder of what they’d come up here to do. She hopes he doesn’t notice her hesitance.

 

x

 

He does notice.

Of course he does - he knows her too well and has known her for too long not to. He stops signing entirely to frown at her. “You’ve been saying you’re ‘fine’ a lot,” he points out. “Are you actually?”

“Yeah,” says Rayla, but Callum watches her carefully now, catching the same flicker of… _something_ in the pale violet of her eyes he thought he’d seen this morning.

He shuffles forwards, knees bumping against hers, and takes her hands in his. She sucks in a breath through her teeth; a gasp that doesn’t go any further than her throat, and Callum feels the way her hands tense in his. He pauses, wondering if she might pull away from him again ( _Again?_ He thinks inwardly. How often has she been pulling away from him that he’s wondering if she’ll do it _again_?). She doesn’t, but he still notes the shadow that crosses her face, like it’s taking more effort to be still than she wants to admit.

“I know this visit’s been hard,” he tells her, his voice soft. “But you can talk to me, Rayla. You know you can.”

“I know,” she mutters. She snorts to herself. “Just once, I want a day where Balan minds his own business, and now there’s this thing with your Aunt and -” She shakes her head, tugging her hands out of his grip, and shifting back to draw her knees under her chin. “I’m just tired, Callum.”

His frown deepens. He’d attributed the last couple of times she’d shied away from his touch to the circumstances, but there’s a pattern now - one that he can’t mistake for anything else. “Why won’t you let me touch you?” he asks without thinking.

She winces, freezing like a deer caught in a trap, and he knows her aversion to him is intentional. “I - uh -” She swallows. “I just thought it might be where Balan might be getting his ideas,” she mumbles.

Callum makes a face at her. “Who _cares_ about what he thinks? We’re just friends.”

“We’re pretty close for ‘just friends’, Callum.”

Her voice is quiet, her eyes conflicted and locked on her knees.

She’s right and he knows it. _‘Just friends_ ’ don’t have the sort of intimacy he’s grown used to - they don’t hold hands, or cuddle together under blankets, or hold each other’s faces, or brush each other’s hair out of their eyes. It’s probably where Ezran had gotten the idea to propose their marriage; where Soren had gotten the idea that they might be more than what they are; and certainly where Balan had gotten the idea that they’d done more than talk the other night.

They should cut back.

 _He_ should cut back.

But the idea of not being close - of not being able to hold her hand to calm her or hold her close to comfort her, or just because he _can_ \- is not one that he likes.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, scooching back. The very action pulls at his chest.

“It’s fine,” she says quietly.

She’s using that word again. Deep in his mind, he has a suspicion that it’s not.

 

x

 

Balan draws the spyglass away from his eye.

He’s on the East Tower. He’d seen Prince Callum and the elf making their way to the North Tower - the elf’s preferred spot in the castle to think, he’s been told - and curious, he’d climbed to the top of his own tower to watch.

 _“Teenagers_ ,” he snorts to himself. They couldn’t be any more obvious if they tried. But there’s something interesting about this morning’s interaction. The elf is… shrinking into herself. Pulling away from His Highness like she can’t handle his affection. Her anguish is obvious, even through a spyglass, and Prince Callum… hasn’t noticed?

Could it really be that easy? An elf obviously in love with a Prince who thinks they’re just friends? Who treats her with the same affection he always has without knowing how much it kills her inside?

Balan lets out a laugh. “How tragic,” he says to himself, amused. “How tragic indeed.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts filled:
> 
> From me: Callum teaching Rayla to sign.
> 
>  
> 
> ~~I can do my own prompts if I want.~~


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “With all due respect, Your Majesty,” Gren interprets. “What the actual -” He makes a face at Amaya. “- Heck?”

xiii.

  
  


It’s a struggle.

Callum doesn’t realize how often he touches her until he forces himself not to. It’s strange, not reaching for her fingers when he leaves her at her door before bed; not ushering her into rooms by the small of her back; not even touching her shoulder when she needs the comfort - and she’s needed it, multiple times just this week.

She’s tired. He can see it in the slump of her shoulders and the dullness in her eyes. Their trips to Katolis are usually less taxing, but Ezran’s proposal, and Balan’s interference, and Aunt Amaya’s impending visit have taken a collective toll. It’s hard for him, too, but it’s not the same. His authority as Prince and Archmage keeps the brunt of Balan’s disdain off him at least, but it means Rayla has to take its full force instead. Callum wishes there was something - _anything_ \- he could do to make this easier for her, but she’s removed even his ability to offer physical comfort, so now there’s not even that.

He misses the softness of her skin against his fingers, and her hair against his cheek; misses her lame jokes, and the spark in her eye when she smiles, and the sound of her laughter and the way it fills his chest with warmth. He just misses _her_. Even when she’s standing next to him, she feels like she’s miles away, and he can’t even close the distance between their hands to remind himself that she’s still there.

Their lessons in sign language are starting to feel stilted. Callum’s been having her sign along with their every conversation but it feels like she has less to say every day. When he asks if she’s okay, her answer is always the same - “Fine. Everything’s fine, Callum.” - but he knows now that it’s not, and he has nothing to offer her to make it so.

It sucks. He hates seeing her like this, and he hates not being able to do anything about it even more. All the while, the _why_ plagues him.

 _Why_ does he care so much? _Why_ is it so important to him that she’s happy? _Why_ does he miss her at all?

Because she’s his friend and he cares about her, he reasons at first, but the logical part of his brain rebuts him: he cares about Ezran too, but he doesn’t spend every waking moment wanting to hold _him_ close. What’s so different about Rayla?

(He knows the answer, he thinks. He’s just afraid to admit it).

 

x

 

The day a messenger interrupts them on the North Tower to notify them that Aunt Amaya has arrived in the city, Rayla pales so fast that he thinks she might throw up.

She swallows audibly, wringing her hands in front of her as she gets to her feet. Her breath comes short as she paces to calm herself down.

“Hey,” he says. He has to stop himself from catching her shoulders; from pulling her close and pressing his forehead to hers to assure her. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s gonna be okay. It’s just Aunt Amaya.”

“To _you_ , maybe,” she snaps. “She hates _me_.”

“She _doesn’t_ ,” insists Callum. “She’s met you once and that was before the end of the war, and she thought you’d kidnapped me and Ez. Come to think of it, we probably should have gone to see her at least once, I mean it’s been three years -”

“ _Callum._ ”

“Right, yeah.” His hands twitch towards hers a second time, but he stops himself at the last minute. “It’s just Aunt Amaya. It’ll be okay.”

Rayla groans and runs her fingers through her hair. “I wish this couple of weeks would just _end_.”

“It will,” he says - _promises_ . He pauses, just for a second, but he allows himself to reach for her at last. She stills, her shoulders warm against his hands, her skin soft under her fingertips. It makes his mouth feel dry and sends a jolt up his spine and _gods_ , he’s missed her, and all he wants, even now, is to hold her close and _really_ promise her that it’s going to be okay. “Look,” he tells her. “We’re halfway there, and then we can put all of… _this_ behind us, and we can go to Xadia and see your uncles, and everything will go back to normal again, okay? We’re gonna get through this.”

Rayla draws in a shaky breath, but, for the first time in days, she doesn’t shrug his hands off.

For the longest moment, Callum wonders if - _hopes_ that - she’d maybe missed him too. He crooks his finger and tilts her chin up; takes in the violet of her eyes and the pink of her lips; feels his heart beating too quickly and too loudly in his chest -

And then the moment is over, and Callum remembers that _‘just friends’_ don’t do this, and that he’s not _supposed_ to be this close to her.

“We should go,” he murmurs.

“Probably,” says Rayla, looking away from him and prying her shoulders out of his grasp. She seems… _reluctant_ , but a shadow crosses her face and she steps away entirely.  She tugs the trap door open without another word and disappears into the recesses of the tower with Callum trailing after her, his heart pounding in his ears.

 

x

 

The nausea is almost overwhelming, but Rayla reminds herself that she’s done scarier things than this before (and frequently, back in the day) and she holds her ground. She stands with Callum and Ezran at the castle gates, her hands folded neatly in front of her like the Lady most of the castle guards think she is, missing the familiar weight of her blades at her back as General Amaya and Commander Gren climb off their horses to bow to Ezran.

“You know you don’t have to do that,” laughs Ezran, hugging his aunt around her waist. “I hope the journey wasn’t too long.”

Amaya chuckles, ruffles her nephew’s hair, and signs in response.

“It was long enough,” interprets Gren. “We’re glad to be back.”

They greet Callum next, Callum accepting his Aunt’s embrace with a smile while Rayla swallows the last-minute anxiety building in her throat. He ushers her forward with a fleeting hand at the small of her back.

“You remember Rayla,” says Callum, signing as he speaks. “The circumstances weren’t so good last time, but she’s been a great friend to me - and to Ezran - since before the end of the war.”

Amaya studies her, her eyes hard and cold, but after a moment, she and Gren place their hands over their hearts and bow to her the way they had to Ezran and Callum.

“Lady Rayla,” Gren greets her in Amaya’s stead. His voice is stiff - the way Rayla imagines Amaya’s voice might be if she didn’t need him - but his face reflects none of her animosity.

“Please don’t call me that,” says Rayla weakly, signing the words as she says them as best as she can despite her shaking fingers. “Just Rayla is fine.”

Amaya blinks at her, the twitch in her lips betraying the surprise on her otherwise stern expression.

“You can sign,” says Gren, looking pleasantly taken aback.

Rayla nods. “Only a bit,” she says. “Callum’s been teaching me.”

Amaya smirks. Rayla thinks it looks almost unfriendly, but perhaps she only thinks so because she’s so terrified.

“Very good,” says Gren, his tone cold on Amaya’s behalf, his eyes flitting to her hands as he speaks. “I believe congratulations are in order.”

“Ah,” interrupts Ezran. “Let’s talk inside. I was hoping I could speak to you both in private before we do anything else.”

 

x

 

It’d be an otherwise quiet afternoon, Ezran thinks, but his Aunt looks livid even as his Crownguard vacate the throne room for their privacy. Inwardly, he thinks Rayla had done pretty well - he doesn’t need to know her as well as his brother does to know that she’d been legitimately terrified of formally meeting their Aunt Amaya, especially under the - er - _circumstances_ of their visit. It’s nice to see that at least Gren doesn’t dislike her on principle - but then Gren’s always been the less scary of the two, and he’ll admit that freely.

Aunt Amaya can be scary, even to him and Callum, and Ezran waits until the throne room doors shut completely before he holds up his hands and reverts to being a thirteen year old instead of a King.

“Please don’t be mad! It’s not what you think!”

Amaya takes a patient breath, but her hands show her disapproval for the idea better than her face.

“With all due respect, Your Majesty,” Gren interprets. “What the actual -” He makes a face at Amaya. “- Heck?”

Ezran winces. “They haven’t agreed to anything!” he says. “It was just an idea! I thought - _maybe_ \- if - if there was an example of an elf-human union that _works_ , it might make negotiations easier. No one was supposed to know until they made a decision!”

Amaya frowns at him.

“I understand the sentiment,” says Gren, watching her hands. “But why does it have to be _Callum_?”

“Because he was always going to have to marry for the realm anyway?” says Ezran like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “At least this way, he’ll get to marry someone who might actually make make him happy?”

“But an _elf_?”

“Her name is _Rayla_ ,” says Ezran sharply. “And yes, it _has_ to be them. They’re _already_ friends; they _already_ care about each other more than they know how to say.” He pauses to study his Aunt, unsure if he should divulge information when it’s not his to tell - but Amaya still looks unhappy about the idea and he decides she needs to know. “They love each other,” he tells her quietly. “They love each other a _lot_ , and if they can work through this, they could make each other _really_ happy. Isn’t that what you want for Callum?”

Amaya’s frown deepens.

“You can’t make those sorts of assumptions, Ezran,” says Gren on her behalf.

“It’s not an assumption,” says Ezran firmly. “Callum’s not all the way there yet, but Rayla loves him and she can make him happier than anyone else ever could.”

“She told you this?”

Ezran falters. “Well - no, but she did tell Claudia -”

“ _Viren’s daughter_ ? _Are you serious_?”

Ezran sets his jaw. He can feel his patience wearing thin, and as much as he respects his Aunt Amaya, he’s tired of outdated world views. He gets enough that from Balan, and he’d rather not get it from his Aunt too. “Things are different now,” he says, a finality on his features that he hopes will keep Amaya from arguing. “The war’s over, and whether they go through with it or not is their decision and no one else's.”

Amaya shakes her head.

“I can’t agree with this.”

“It’s not up to you.” He gives her a hard stare - the one he usually reserves for Balan when he’s being a nuisance. “And, as your King -” He takes a breath. “I’m ordering you to get to know her first. Give her a chance, Aunt Amaya, _please_. She’s not a bad person just because she’s an elf, and whether or not Callum could be happy with her should be the only thing that matters.”

Amaya signs nothing.

Ezran wonders for a little while if she’s really _that_ mad, but in the end she relents.

“Fine,” Gren says for her. “I’m still not happy.”

“Try to be,” insists Ezran. “They ended a thousand year war together. You owe it to them to try.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts filled:
> 
> From an anon on Tumblr: Rayla meets Aunt Amaya.
> 
> **I know how much you guys wanted Amaya to automatically be onboard but I really think that her being immediately supportive this early in the game would be out of character for her. Give her time! She's here to cause tension, not conflict, and I promise you all that she'll come around. Please just be patient with me!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yeah, she hates me.”

xiv.

  


“Yeah, she hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you.”

“She _does._ ” Rayla scowls at him. She’s pacing in the courtyard, and twice now, she’s tried to reach behind her for blades that aren’t there out of a need for something to fidget with. Callum watches her patiently from where he sits cross-legged on the stone steps, his sketchbook open but forgotten on his lap.

If she were being totally honest, then no, her first formal meeting with General Amaya and Commander Gren was not a _total_ disaster, but neither is she an idiot, and she’s familiar enough with staring and glaring now to know dislike when she sees it. The hardened gaze, the downturned lips, the little smirk that had followed after her shaky attempt at sign - Amaya’s feelings may not be as severe as she makes them out to be, but she’s not happy, either, and Rayla can only imagine why.

“You’re catastrophizing a little,” says Callum, shutting his sketchbook altogether.

“Am I?” snaps Rayla. “Callum, the last time your Aunt saw me, you told her I’d kill you and drink your blood.”

Callum winces. “Well, I mean, you clearly _haven’t_ ,” he says. He jerks forward awkwardly, like he wants to grab her wrist but changes his mind about it at the last second. He pats the space next to him instead. “I’m sorry,” he offers. “I know it was years ago, but what I said back then was uncalled for, especially if it’s affecting Aunt Amaya’s opinion of you now. Come and sit down. Please?”

Rayla scowls at him a second time, still disgruntled, but she obliges him anyway.

He moves over for her, pressing his shoulder uncomfortably against the stone bannister on his other side like he’s being extra careful not to touch her. “She doesn’t hate you,” he says again. “She’s… _apprehensive_ about you.”

“Very diplomatic,” says Rayla with a derisive snort. “You’re good at this ambassador thing.”

Callum makes a face at her, but he ignores the taunt. “I know she can be a little scary,” he says slowly, “But you just need to get to know her, that’s all. And she’ll get to know you and before you know it, you’ll be getting along fine. I bet you she’s already secretly impressed that you went to the trouble of learning to sign.”

“You didn’t really give me a choice with that,” grumbles Rayla.

“Do you regret it?”

She sighs. “No, I guess not,” she mutters. “But - Callum, I -”

“My Lady. Your Highness.”

Rayla swallows a yelp, and she scrambles up in time to see Commander Gren standing over them with his helmet under his arm and a kind smile fixed on his face. Quietly, she thinks he's a little bit reminiscent of a puppy. He bows to her, and then to Callum, and behind him, Rayla catches sight of General Amaya, waiting for him at the top of the steps with her hands clasped primly behind her back as she overlooks the courtyard.

“Commander Gren,” she greets, as Callum gets to his feet too, fingers twitching almost defensively at his sides. She takes a breath. “You _really_ don’t have to call me that or bother with the - uh - the bowing, but - er - what can we do for you?”

Gren studies them, lips twitching upwards, amused little spark in his eye. “My apologies for disturbing you both. I just wanted to say hello informally. I know your uncle.”

Rayla stares at him, forgetting, for a moment, that Amaya is watching carefully from the top of the steps. “...Which uncle?”

“He - uh - I don’t think he ever told me his name,” Gren says awkwardly. “But I was told that he was part of the team that - uh -” he pauses - “infiltrated the castle the night His Majesty found the egg.”

“You know _Runaan_?”

“Is that his name?” Gren grins at them. “We were locked in the same dungeon for some time, although I doubt he remembers me.”

Rayla racks her brain. Twice, she thinks, she’d heard Runaan mention a ‘talkative red headed human’ who was ‘unfairly optimistic’ given the severity of their circumstances. She studies Gren with _that_ in mind and wonders how she ever found him as intimidating as Amaya. “He remembers,” she says, fighting a smirk.

Gren’s smile widens. He jerks his head at Amaya, making use of the fact that he has his back to her and she can’t see his lips. “Don’t let her scare you. She’s just… as His Highness says - _apprehensive_. She is impressed, by the way. Your Sign Language is very good. How long have you been learning?”

Rayla glances down at her feet. “Three days.”

“Very impressive indeed!” says Gren. He glances up at Amaya and nods when she tilts her head just slightly towards the castle keep. “I won’t keep you,” he says to them. “But give your uncle my best. My Lady. Your Highness.” He bows to them both once more before he turns and jogs back up the rest of the steps to join Amaya.

Rayla thinks she catches the sign for ‘ _My apologies’_ before they disappear around the corner and she lets out the breath she hadn’t realized had caught in her throat.

Callum nudges her with a satisfied smirk. “Well, she doesn’t hate you.”

Despite herself, Rayla lets out a laugh. It’s weak, and a little shaky, but it’s the first time in _days_ that she lets her shoulders relax at last because she’s so, _so_ relieved that there’s at least one other person in this castle apart from Callum and Ezran that doesn’t hate her on principle; that treats her like another person and not with stiff greetings because they don’t know how else to act.

It’s not that she doesn’t appreciate it from Callum and Ezran - on most days, it’s all that keeps her sane, but it is _refreshing_ to be treated so by someone else.

“ _Gren_ doesn’t hate me," she corrects him. “Your Aunt still might.”

“I promise you she doesn’t,” says Callum quietly. He chuckles too, and, probably against his better judgement _and_ hers, he takes her hand in his.

Warmth blooms in her chest at his touch, and there’s a part of her that _knows_ this will kill her later, but she wants this _so much_ that she allows it; allows him to pull her close enough to slip an arm around her; and allows herself to rest her head against his shoulder and enjoy his proximity for the first time in _days_.

Callum pauses, his thumb rubbing gently against the skin of her right shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” she tells him. She almost believes it, this time.

 

x

 

 _What do you think?_ Amaya asks as Gren falls into step with her.

He shrugs a little. _She’s a little afraid of you_ , he tells her. _With respect, General, you can come off as intimidating._

 _As I should_ , signs Amaya with a snort. _Do you think what Ezran says is true?_

Gren pauses, his hands stilling in front of him as they walk. The corridor is otherwise empty, and there are few other people in this castle besides them, Callum, and now, the elf, who know how to sign, but Amaya gets the feeling that he wants to be as respectful of their privacy as he can. _I think Prince Callum cares for her a great deal,_ he signs at last. _He’s… protective of her, I think, and she of him. It’s difficult to say, beyond that._

Amaya grimaces. She doesn’t approve - not in the least - but Ezran is right. It’s not up to her, and the most she can do is hope that Callum does what’s best for him. _What do you suggest?_

_General?_

Amaya purses her lips. _What do you suggest we do about all this?_

Gren gives her a _look_ . He’s never been particularly outspoken, but she knows from the look on his face that he disagrees. _With respect, General, I suggest we do nothing. This is up to them, and if Prince Callum has an opportunity for happiness with Her Ladyship, how can we object?_

_You agree with Ezran then?_

_It’s not my place to disagree with His Majesty_ , signs Gren shortly.

Amaya lets out a sigh because she knows he’s right. It bothers her a lot. The near two decades she’d spent commanding forces at the Breach have not coloured elves kindly in her eyes, and even now, she has trouble accepting that they are no longer at war. But the elf - _Her Ladyship_ , she corrects herself - has been with Callum for a longer amount of time than she ever has, and Callum is fine and safe and happy, so what can she do? As far as she she can tell, Her Ladyship means well, and, on top of that, Ezran had ordered her to _try_ to get know her, so, grudgingly, try she will.

They pass a corridor but Gren stops her, jerking his head slightly to the right.

She turns, frowning as General Balan flags them down and half jogs down the hall to meet them.

“General Amaya,” he mouths. “You’ve arrived.”

 _So I have_ , she signs, trusting Gren to interpret for her.

“You received my letter then?”

 _I wouldn’t be here otherwise._ She smirks at him. _How can I be of service to you, General Balan?_

Balan straightens importantly, drawing himself to his full height like it matters. “King Ezran’s proposal to arrange Prince Callum’s marriage to the elf,” he begins. “It’s outrageous. We cannot allow him to proceed with it.”

 _You are aware_ , signs Amaya, _that, as King, Ezran is_ allowed _to do whatever he wishes._

Balan huffs at her. “You must understand, General. Prince Callum _cannot_ marry the elf. It would ruin him. It would ruin _us_ . Katolis would become the laughing stock of the Five Kingdoms. This marriage _cannot_ occur.”

Amaya’s lips twitch into an unamused smile. She understands. She understands better than anyone, but while this proposed marriage thing irritates her, the idea that _Balan_ thinks he might have any bearing on her nephews’ lives and decisions irritates her more. She’s never liked him. Her knowledge of him is that he thinks of himself as far too important for someone who’s spent most of his life warm and comfortable in Katolis while also sending troops to her so _she_ can watch them die in his stead.

She weighs her options carefully, trying to decide if it’s worth being honest and letting him think he’s in the right, or if it might be altogether more enjoyable to watch him squirm despite her opinion on Ezran’s proposal.

She forces down a snort.

 _General,_ she signs, _as far as I’m aware, no plans have been finalized at this stage. Prince Callum has yet to agree to anything, and until he does, there’s nothing to stop. In the meantime, am I to understand that you sent me that letter without the knowledge or approval of His Majesty, the King?_

Balan frowns at her. “I don’t see how that’s relevant, General.”

 _It’s plenty relevant, General Balan,_ signs Amaya. _Because my understanding of this situation is that you undermined the authority of both my nephews, one of whom is the King you serve, to summon me to Katolis for a proposal that hasn’t even been finalized._

Balan pales a little.

She sneers at him. _You ought to be careful. Some might call that conspiring against the Crown. Good day._ She turns on her heel, beckoning for Gren to follow her, only to pause two steps later. She turns. _The elf’s name is Rayla, by the way. You will refer to her as Lady Rayla, or Her Ladyship if you can’t commit it memory._

They turn again before Balan can object, and if he does, Gren doesn’t sign it to her. Instead, Gren waits until they’re well out of view before he stops her again.

 _I thought you didn’t approve,_ he signs.

 _I don’t_ , replies Amaya. She smirks. _But I won’t pretend I didn’t enjoy every minute of that._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~Having like two whole days off where I actually, you know, take the days off is amazing~~
> 
> **I have little to no experience writing deaf people so if I did anything wrong, please let me know so I can correct it and keep it going for following chapters!!! Thanks team!**


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You weren’t ready for it,” corrects Rayla. “That’s no one else’s fault but your own.”

xv.

 

It’s not as hard as Rayla thought it would be.

The longer she spends around Callum, the easier it gets to bear his touch. He’s been careful around her, and while he doesn’t understand why she’s been shying away from him (he thinks he does, but he doesn’t really), he respects her wishes enough to limit his affection appropriately. It makes his embrace, and the occasional brush of their hands something she can cherish without holding on to the hope that he might one day return her feelings, and that’s okay with her.

He’s happy.

And maybe it _does_ still suck, and maybe one day he’ll find someone that he loves the way she loves him, but at this stage, _he’s happy_ with their friendship, and knowing that gives her the chance to let go of these feelings _now_ , before that happens and they kill her all over again.

She’s managing with that all right, she thinks, and on days when she doesn’t, she has Claudia, her messages of support lighting up the little glass tablet that Rayla keeps on her nightstand. She’s been more helpful than Rayla had ever dreamed she would be, and while Rayla’s never been the sort to _talk about her feelings_ , the outlet Claudia’s tablet gives her soothes the ache in her chest and gives her a solace that no one else can.

On top of that, the knowledge that General Amaya does not, in fact, _hate_ her is also soothing. Her nerves have been a frazzled mess over the past week and a half, what with Callum, and Balan, and the force of nature that is Amaya herself, but Commander Gren’s assurance and the sunniness of his overall disposition as he interprets behind his General settles the churning in Rayla’s stomach whenever said General is in the same vicinity. The cold glare Rayla thought she’d been giving her morphs into something closer to cautious scrutiny, which, frankly, Rayla will take over hatred any day.

Altogether, it feels like things are finally settling, and as the deadline for their decision approaches, Rayla feels relatively confident that she and Callum can both agree that they won’t be getting married, and they can leave this debacle behind them and move on with their lives at long, _long_ last.

They’re sparring in the courtyard today. It’s Callum’s idea - she’d teased him for it, obviously (“Are you _that_ eager to lose?”) but it’s been a while, and she imagines he’d thought the adrenaline might do her some good. He’d been right - she feels better right now than she has in ages, her heart pumping heavily in her chest for once because it’s supposed to be, and not because Callum’s standing too close to her.

He watches her carefully from across the courtyard, brilliant green eyes reading her posture and her face as he flips her blade in his hand. She’d taught him how to use them years ago, when every second day was a fight for their lives and when he _needed_ to be able to defend himself in case she couldn’t do it for him. He’s only gotten better since, his memory good for watching her movements and trying to copy them himself. It’s a not-so-secret point of pride for her - that she’d taken Callum, the mess of a fighter that he was, and turned him into someone who can, at the very least, hold his own.

It means he knows her fighting style better than anyone though, and he lowers the blade a little and cocks his head to the side. “You’re holding back.”

Rayla snorts at him. “If I wasn’t, you’d be dead,” she jokes, nodding a little at Amaya, who’s watching them surreptitiously from the shaded walkway. “I don’t know that your Aunt would approve of _that_.”

“What, you think I can’t keep up?” Callum’s lips tilt into a lopsided smirk, and Rayla thinks her heart skips a beat.

She ignores it, the way she’s been ignoring everything else its been doing. “I think I don’t want to die.” She means it mostly as a joke, but while General Amaya doesn’t _hate_ her, she doesn’t _like_ her her, either. She darts forward while Callum’s off his guard, swings a blow at him that he only _just_ parries before he dodges back, his smirk turning into a something like a pout.

“That’s cheating,” he mutters, on the defensive again.

“You weren’t _ready_ for it,” corrects Rayla. “That’s no one else’s fault but your own.” She swings at him again, and he dodges once more, flicking the blade in his hand into its hook form and using it to block her. He pushes back, catching the nook of her blade in the hook of his and locking her into a shoving match she can’t pull away from. Rayla scowls at him, pushing harder against his, determined to knock it out of his grip, but Callum holds his ground, teeth gritted in concentration, their faces so close that she can see the sweat on his brow and feel the shortness of his breath against her fingers; so close that she _forgets_ how to ignore the fluttering in her chest.

Callum sees the opening before she does. He ducks, lets the blade slip out of his grip and, without his resistance, Rayla stumbles forward as he ducks behind her and sweeps a leg at the back of her knees.

She goes down with a yelp, huffing and frustrated and squinting against the afternoon sun as Callum grins over her.

“Feel like you're the one who might not be ready for it.”

She groans and sits up.

Under the shaded walkway, Amaya smirks, hands clapping lightly to applaud her nephew as she pushes herself off the wall to approach them.

 _Impressive_ , she signs. Callum has to interpret the rest.

“I didn’t think Callum had it in him,” he says, before he scowls at his Aunt. “ _Rude,_ ” he adds to her, signing as he speaks.

“He’s got it in him, all right,” grumbles Rayla, only half-signing her response. She doesn’t quite know how to sign the whole sentence, but Amaya understands and holds out a hand to help her up.

Rayla hesitates, but it’s the warmest Amaya’s looked at her since she arrived, and her eyes aren’t even that warm. It’s still an offer of peace though, so she takes the proffered hand, hoists herself up with a huff, and tries to dust off her back.

“Did you teach him?” Callum asks in Amaya’s stead, stepping behind her to help get the dust out of her hair.

Rayla’s breath hitches just a little as Callum’s hand brushes the back of her neck and the skin of her shoulders, but she swallows whatever feelings are welling in her throat in a bid to act normal about it. “Erm - yes,” she tells Amaya. “A while ago now, before the war ended.”

“She was _worried_ ,” snorts Callum. He bends over to pick up her blades, flicks them both back into their hilts, and hands them to Rayla before he continues. “She thought I might need it in case I couldn’t use magic.”

_Was she right?_

“Only once,” says Callum. His fingers drift to her hair to tug a bit of chipped stone out of the ends and Rayla stiffens, shuffles back as subtly as she can, before a _look_ crosses Callum’s face and his hand falls to his side.

Amaya studies them both - Rayla thinks she sees a fleeting sense of understanding cross her face - but in the end, she nods. _Very good_ , she signs. _I thank you for looking after him_ , she adds to Rayla, _almost_ but not quite grudgingly. _He wouldn’t have gotten very far on his own, I think._

Callum scowls at his Aunt. “ _Thanks_ ,” he drawls, looking a little offended that his _Aunt_ would tease him so. In all fairness, Rayla thinks that it’s a good sign - Amaya _doesn’t_ hate her, and she doesn’t hate her enough to make fun of Callum in front of her. It’s more progress than Rayla ever hoped to achieve over a couple of days, and while she’s still a _lot_ intimidated, there’s something of an armistice there that she can’t help but feel grateful for.

“He would have gotten on fine. Probably,” she adds quickly, glancing at Callum from the corner of her eye with a cheeky smirk. She tucks the blades back into their sheathes at her back. “I should go and wash up. General.” She nods, feeling a little awkward, but altogether better about Amaya, and takes her leave.

She feels Callum’s eyes on her back, feels her heart hammering in her chest because she knows he’d wanted to spend the rest of the day with her, and for a split second, she considers letting him.

She doesn’t, in the end.

 

x

 

Balan hears her coming from down the corridor, but he waits until she crosses his path before he catches her attention. He’d known there was a chance Amaya might side with the boys, and as she _has_ , it’s time to take matters into his own hands. “My Lady,” he greets, throwing in a bow for good measure. It irks him that he’s expected to, but with any luck, it won’t be for much longer. “May I have a word?”

The elf groans, her pace quickening, but he falls into step with her anyway.

“What do you want, Balan?”

“Only to talk,” he says. It’s mostly true, and if he wants this plan to work, then he must be _precise_ in his every action. “I wanted to… apologise, for any trouble I’ve caused you.”

She glances at him from the corner of her eye, a frown forming on her brow, distrust in her eyes. “Sure…” she says slowly, inching away from him.

Balan presses on. “I imagine this situation has been hard on the both of you, and my interference has not helped in the least. For that, I am sorry. I can only imagine how difficult it must be for you personally.”

“ _So_ difficult,” drawls the elf. “Moreso with you here.”

“It must hurt,” he continues - _laments_ , even. “Knowing you love him and he doesn’t love you in return.”

 _That_ stops her in her tracks, and Balan takes a moment to enjoy the panic that flashes in her eyes. Her shoulders tense, her jaw clenches, her eyes suddenly hard with the dread of knowing he knows her secret. He fights a smirk as she tries to wipe the emotion from her face.

“Interesting assumption you’ve made there,” she says, trying for nonchalance and failing miserably at it.

Balan shrugs. “We all know the feeling,” he tells her mildly. “It’s happened to the best of us. We fall in love with the wrong person, we ache and long for them, and it just gets harder and harder to deal with their presence and their touch, especially when they’re as affectionate as His Highness is to you. In hindsight, I suppose it’s for the better. Can you imagine what he might have to deal with from other members of court if you and he _did_ go through with it?”

“He’s dealt with _much_ worse, I can promise you that,” snorts the elf, continuing on her way like she isn’t shaken to her core.

“Still,” says Balan. “It’d be a lifetime of scorn and mockery - not just for you, but for _him_. Personally, I’d hate for any such strain on a relationship.”

“Yes, well, no one’s asking for your personal opinion, are they?” snaps the elf acidly. “Lucky for you, I already know all this, so there’s no actual need for you to keep talking.”

“My apologies, My Lady,” he says. “I can see that I’m just bothering you. I’ll be on my way then. Just -” He pauses, choosing his words carefully. “I do understand. The ache can be unbearable at times. I couldn’t deal with it myself, when I was in your situation a long, _long_ time ago. In the end, I chose to leave. I’d hate for you to do the same, so, if you need anything…”

She scowls at him. “I have a need for you to go away now,” she seethes. “If you don’t mind, General?”

“Of course.” Balan bows to her once more, hiding the smugness of the smirk that graces his lips with the inclination of his head.  “My Lady,” he bids, turning on his heel and heading back down the hall, satisfied that, for once, things might go his way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're in the homestretch now, folks!! I have this last arc planned down to the letter, so with any luck, we'll be at the end soon!!


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s - ah -” Rayla coughs to clear the lump growing in her throat. “Callum knows.”

xvi.

  


Rayla’s been telling herself she’s fine so often this past week and a half that she’s grown used to just ignoring the unease in her stomach around Callum, General Amaya, and Balan, but she’s never felt so _vulnerable_ , and it scares her. She shuts her bedroom door with shaking hands and leans her back against it, trying to collect herself, trying to remember what she’d come up here to do, trying to _breathe,_ but all she can think about is Balan’s voice, oily and insincere, as it whispers her own secret to her in her head.

_“It must hurt, knowing you love him and he doesn’t love you in return.”_

Things had been going so well. She’d thought this was getting easier - that she was _finally_ learning to let Callum go - but Balan’s words ring clear and true, and the ache returns in full force, in spite of the terror flooding her system.

How would he even know? She asks herself. When had she slipped up so miserably that _Balan_ had seen through every carefully crafted wall she’d put up to protect herself from this? What had she done to give herself away?

Had she stared for too long? Said too much? Accepted Callum’s affection one too many times?

She doesn’t know. She’s so unsettled that she can’t even think clearly about it. All she does know is that it makes her skin crawl, and the idea that _Balan_ had watched her actions closely enough to know something so personal - so _intimate_ \- makes her want to sit in a bath and scrub herself raw.

She draws in a shuddering breath, trying to breathe the panic out of her system, but she’s shaken, and scared, and so, _so_ alone. She can’t turn to Callum for obvious reasons; can’t turn to Ezran because he’s King and has duties more important than her feelings; can’t even rely on Claudia and her little glass tablet because even if she did know, what could she do? And, worse still, Rayla _knows_ it’s a game - Balan had meant to scare her, and had fully intended to make her feel vulnerable and isolated from the two people who had any power against him - and _it’s worked_.

Balan’s _winning_ , and it’s all she can do to keep her head above the water.

She pushes herself off the door, paces around the room breathing careful, steadying breaths, trying to gain some semblance of control over her mind and her actions, before she stalks into the adjoining bathroom to pump water into the tub. She waits until it’s full before she sets her weapons on the bed and shrugs off her clothes, tugging them from her body in a rush and leaving them in a heap on the floor. The water is chilly. It puts goose pimples on her skin, but she welcomes it - welcomes the feeling of something other than dread and heartache as she shivers and draws her knees to her chest.

“It’s fine,” she murmurs to herself, curling against the edge of the copper tub. “It’s fine.”

It’s not, and she admits that freely now, as a sob forces its way out of her lungs.

 

x

 

It starts to rain before dinner time.

Callum had seen the clouds rolling in from his bedroom window; felt the static building in the air as he peeled his sweat-soaked sparring-shirt off his back. Storms have always had a special space in his heart, the exhilaration of casting _Fulminis_ for the first time still embedded firmly in his memory, but he hasn’t seen Rayla since she disappeared to wash up, and he wonders if the anticipation building in his system is truly because of the incoming gale.

He’d tried not to worry about it. Rayla can take care of herself, and she’s been doing so much _better_ these past couple of days - her smiles have been wider, her eyes warmer, and while she’s still not as accepting of his affection as she was before, everything feels like its finally, _finally_ stabilising after the horrendous mess it has been this past week and a half. All Callum wants is for her to be happy again, and he’d thought they were making good progress towards that, but something irks him - there’s something not quite right about the fact that she didn’t come back after she washed up.

He waits outside her bedroom door now, wondering if he should knock or if she might appear at dinner on her own, but his curiosity gets the better of him, and he raps his knuckles lightly against the wood.

“Rayla? You in there?”

She doesn’t answer. He frowns, waiting a moment longer before he knocks again. “Hey, is everything okay?”

The door creaks open. Callum feels relief well in his chest at the sight of her for reasons he doesn’t really know how to explain. She’s pretty in the dimming light - silver hair damp and tousled, towel slung haphazardly around her shoulders to keep her shirt dry, but there’s a redness in the whites of her eyes that stops him short. He takes a second to study her - _really_ study her, and the hollow smile she greets him with along with the stiffness of her movements.

“Hey,” she greets. Her voice is hoarse and she doesn’t quite look at him. “Sorry, I - uh - I lost track of time.”

It’s a lie and he knows it. She knows that he knows it - he can see it in the way that she winces. “Rayla -” he starts, pushing gently against the door. “Rayla, what happened?”

She shakes her head at him. “Nothing,” she says, her voice cracking  just a little on the first syllable. “I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”

Also a lie. She’s been using it for days, and Callum knows now more than ever how really _not_ fine things are. He’s only ever seen her cry a handful of times over the three years they’ve been travelling together, but he knows the signs of it when he sees them. The redness in her eyes, the hoarseness of her voice, the way her breath shakes when she breathes in - she’d been _crying_ , and Callum’s heart clenches in his chest. He swallows and pushes the door open the rest of the way before he can even think about what he’s doing.

Her reaction is immediate - she shrinks away from him; keeps her hands curled against her chest and out of his reach like she knows all he wants to do is pull her close.

Callum hesitates. “Rayla,” he manages. “Talk to me, what’s going on?”

“ _Nothing_ ,” says Rayla, but the panic is starting to show in her voice and on her face. She swallows. “I’m fine, Callum, let’s - let’s just go to dinner, okay?”

He’s not fooled, and he presses forward until her back bumps against the wall and there’s nowhere else for her to go. He’s starting to panic too, because she’s been _crying_ and he doesn’t know what to _do._ He can’t understand why she won’t let him help; can’t fathom why she won’t even _talk_ to him. “Rayla, _please,_ ” he tries again, his own voice cracking now. He clutches at her hands, trying to remind her that he’s _there_ , she’s not alone, that, whatever it is, he can take it. “ _Please_. Don’t lie to me. Tell me what’s wrong. Tell me what I can do to help you.”

“You _can’t_ ,” she gasps. She tears her hands from his grip, but he’s too close now. She falters. “I - Callum, you _can’t_ -”

“Why?” he demands, heart hammering painfully against his ribs. To hell with what everyone else might think, he thinks. She's been crying and his only want right now is to _make it better._ His instincts getting the better of him, his hands cupping her cheeks, her face so close to his that he can feel the raggedness of her breath against his lips. “Why can’t I help you? Why won’t you let me?”

She shakes her head, tries to pull his hands from her face, but it’s half hearted and weak, like she _wants_ to let him in and just doesn’t know how. “I can’t - it’s - it’s complicated, Callum, _please_ -”

“Hey,” he whispers. “Hey, it’s okay, you can tell me, I swear to you, Rayla, whatever it is, we can work it out.” He tilts her face towards him, presses his forehead against hers to remind her again, _I’m here, it’s okay, I can take it_ , even if the words don’t quite make it past his lips.

But she shakes her head. “Not this time,” she murmurs, her resolve crumbling at last. Her tears are warm against his thumbs, and Callum forgets how to _breathe_ because Rayla is the strongest person he knows, and her, _broken_ , like _this_ , feels like it could break _him_ too.

There’s a lump in his throat, and his heart is racing so fast it feels like he might faint. “What do you mean?” he asks, voice cracking because he’s afraid of what the answer might be.

She snorts, rueful, tired, _heartbroken_. “We’re just friends,” she whispers.

“What?”

“We’re just friends,” she manages again. “That’s all we’re supposed to be, and I - Callum, I -” She pulls free from him with a gasp, anguish on her face, fear in her eyes, heartache so clear she doesn’t even have to finish the sentence.

Callum feels his stomach drop through the floor. No. She couldn’t have been - not this whole time, because that would mean -

“Rayla,” he breathes. “I -”

“I can’t be here,” she chokes. “I can’t. I’m sorry -”

“Rayla, wait -”

She turns. She runs. She doesn’t look back.

 

x

 

Rayla doesn’t really know where she wants to go, but her feet take her to the stables.

She’d considered, briefly, the North Tower, but Callum knows that she likes it up there and, for once, she doesn’t want him near her. It’s too much. She’s in enough pain without him trying to fix a problem he _can’t_ fix, and at least here, there’s a lower likelihood of being interrupted by someone else.

Vorobey nickers when she sees her, and Rayla rubs her eyes with the heels of her hand before she offers the filly a sad smile. “Hey,” she greets quietly. “I hope you don’t mind some company.”

Vorobey snorts gently, snuffling at her hair and her ears with an affection that needs no explicit translation. She sighs against her, hands rubbing absently at her mane. The ambience here is pleasant; it’s quiet, but not uncomfortably so; the gentle _hush_ of the rain and occasional braying horse a welcome change to the silence in her own bedroom. She gets all of two minutes to herself before the stable doors swing open.

Rayla’s breath hitches, but it’s Ezran’s voice that calls through quiet.

“Rayla?”

She sighs, shoulders sagging in relief. “Hey Ez,” she mumbles as he appears at the stall door.

He stares at her, concern obvious in his eyes before he even asks. “Hey, what happened? Are you okay?”

Rayla swallows, but she’s miserable already, and Ezran’s known from the beginning so there’s no real reason to lie. She sniffles. “It’s - ah -” She coughs to clear the lump growing in her throat. “Callum knows.”

His eyes widen. “What? Please tell me he didn’t say anything stupid -”

“I didn’t let him,” admits Rayla. She stares at the straw on the stable floor, willing herself not to cry in front of him but it’s too late. It’s so hard to breathe, and _gods_ , her chest aches, and she’s been holding these feelings in for so long that there’s little chance of stopping them now. “I - uh - I couldn’t be there, Ez,” she croaks. “All he wanted to do was make it better, and he _can’t_ , and I couldn’t -”

“Oh, Rayla.” Ezran starts forward, tugging her into his embrace before she even has the chance to refuse. He’s grown a bit. It’s more obvious now than ever, and Rayla buries her face into his shoulder, the floodgates well and truly open. He holds her tight, rubs his hand up and down her back, and Rayla _breaks_ in his arms, anguished sobs wracking her body as Ezran whispers words of comfort into her hair.

“I don’t know what to do, Ez,” she whispers, her voice hoarse with remorse. “I can’t keep pretending everything’s okay, but the idea of not even being _friends_ with him scares me so much, and I just - I can’t be here tonight, and I didn’t know where else to go -”

“I know,” mutters Ez. “I know, it’s okay. You’re okay.” He nods against her shoulder, and Rayla almost yelps when Vorobey presses her nose into her hair. “Go to _The Wishbone_. I’ll let them know you’re coming. Hey, it’s gonna be okay, I promise.”

She snorts in spite of herself. “You can’t promise that.”

“I can,” says Ezran firmly, untangling himself from her grasp to take a saddle from the nearest rack. “You’ll work this out. You always do.” He goes about making Vorobey ready for her when they hear the stable door swing open once more, and Rayla rubs the tears from her eyes in time to see Balan appear at the stall door.

“My Lady,” he says. “I heard you were upset.”

Rayla doesn’t have it in her to be civilised today, and she takes a blade from her back, shoves him against the opposite wall, and presses the sharp end against his throat.

He gasps, looking to Ezran for help, but Ezran just shrugs and continues with his work.

Rayla snarls at him. “Come near me again, and I’ll kill you myself,” she snaps.

“You wouldn’t,” manages Balan, trying to sound smug, but the fear in his eyes is obvious even to her. “Kill me and the work you’ve been doing these past three years will be for nothing.”

“Like the work we’ve been doing has ever mattered to _you_ ,” she seethes. “Don’t test me, Balan.”

His voice fails him, and he looks to Ezran again. “Y-Your Majesty,” he says. “You wouldn’t let her -”

Ezran shrugs a second time as he tightens the strap of Vorobey’s saddle. “You heard what she said,” he says mildly. “Don’t test her.” He leads Vorobey forward by the reigns, reaches for Rayla’s hand, and tugs her back by her fingers. “Go,” he says quietly. “I’ll take care of this.”

Rayla nods, muttering a _“Thank you,_ ” to him under her breath as she releases Balan and flicks the blade back into its hilt. She mounts up wordlessly, gives Balan one last disgusted scowl before she clicks her tongue, and she and Vorobey ride off into the night.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've read through this like 20 times already and I _still_ don't know if it's as emotionally charged as I intended. I hope it came out okay!


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “This whole time, she - gods, and I just carried on like nothing was different but it must have been killing her, and I didn’t even notice -” He takes a shuddering breath. “It’s my fault, Ez. She left because of me."

xvii.

 

Callum’s first instinct is to follow her, but the realization feels like a punch in the gut.

She loves him.

She _loves_ him.

She loves _him._

The room spins. His breath comes short and shallow, and he slumps onto her bed as he tries to process the idea. How could he not have noticed? The softness in her eyes; the lingering of her fingers on his hands and on his face and in his hair; her reaction to his insistence that they were just friends after Ezran’s proposal; the way she’s been shying away from his touch - gods, it’s been so _obvious_ , and he’d gone about acting like they were _just friends_ without realizing how much it must have _killed her_ inside to bear his touch and think she meant nothing to him.

His chest hurts. His blood pounds in his ears. His hands are _shaking_ and there’s something in his gut demanding he do something - _anything_ \- to go after her, to tell her that it’s going to be okay and that they can work this out -

But anything he does will kill her more, and he _can’t_ do that to her. He’s hurt her enough this past week and a half, and the fact that he hadn’t even _noticed_ puts a lump in his throat and a sharp ache in his heart.

He forces himself to breathe, to settle, to _think_ , because he can’t let her go like this - there _has_ to be something he can do to fix this - to remove the problem altogether, but he’s at a loss because he _is_ the problem, and the obvious solution is -

He doesn’t want to think about it.

He’s an idiot, he thinks, burying his face in his hands. How could he do this to her? The signs were all there and so, _so_ obvious he’d just - what? Had he chosen not to notice them or was he really just blind? Did he really think that her affection meant _nothing_ ? That they could just keep going the way they had been, casual intimacy and all, without consequences? Could he really be _that_ stupid?

He can’t leave it like this.

He doesn’t really know what to do - doesn’t even really know what to say to her, if he even finds her to begin with - but he can’t just sit here.

He gets up.

 

x

 

He finds Ez in the stables in the middle of a shouting match with Balan. He ducks under the window, afraid to interrupt, but a horse spots him anyway. It pokes its nose through the gap in the glass, snuffling at Callum even as he hides beneath the sill. His lips twitch a little, and he reaches a hand up and pats its nose as he listens to Ez.

“Summoning General Amaya behind my back? Accusing an elven emissary of having a premarital affair with my brother? Undermining my authority at every turn to stop a marriage that hasn’t even been formally arranged? I’m your _King_ , Balan, I asked you a question - _what else did you do_?”

It’s not even directed at him and Callum winces. It’s unusual for Ez - Callum’s seen his brother get mad but not like this. His voice is commanding and severe, laced with an obvious dislike at a volume Callum didn’t even realize Ez was capable of. It reminds him of their father.

“I did nothing!” he hears Balan snap. “I only spoke to her - I sympathised with her situation, even -”

“You had no business talking to her about her personal problems, Balan. I’m not an idiot. _You_ did this.”

“How _dare_ you accuse me -”

“How _dare_ I?” He hears Ezran let out a hollow laugh, and even from outside and over the heavy rainfall, Callum hears the horses echoing his anger, hooves stamping menacingly against the stable floor. Despite himself, despite his panic and the way his chest aches, Callum makes a silent vow to never make is brother angry again. “I am your _King_ ,” he hears Ez snap again. “I’ve been patient with you because you were loyal to my father, but I’m _warning_ you - I will not be responsible for what happens to you if you even think about going near Rayla again. And if she, for any reason, _doesn’t_ give you what’s coming to you, I will personally make sure you regret it. Have I made myself clear?”

“Your Majesty -”

“ _Have I made myself clear?”_

There’s a pause, but Callum hears the telltale clanking of an armoured bow before Balan mutters, “Yes, My King.”

“Get out,” seethes Ezran. “I want to talk to my brother alone.”

Callum blinks. He glances up at the horse, still snuffling for his attention, and remembers Ez’s connection with animals too late. He huffs and straightens, his clothes heavy with rainwater, his limbs cold and going numb, as the stable door crashes open and Balan storms into the rain.

He’s red-faced and furious, and he casts a glare at Callum on his way out. He doesn’t bow. He only pauses, and then snarls before he trudges across the bailey and back towards the keep. A minute later, Ez appears in the doorway, his face hard, and he beckons Callum out of the rain before he rounds on him.

“What happened?” he asks shortly.

The pain in Callum’s chest flares within him and he ducks his gaze, watching as rainwater drips off his fingers and splashes onto the stable floor. “She’s gone, isn’t she?” he mutters around the lump in his throat.

Ez studies him with his lips pressed together and his hands in his pockets, the way their father used to study them when they’d done something wrong. “She’s gone,” he says at last.

Callum swallows a sob. He squints his eyes shut and rubs his hands over his face, wondering if the wetness on it is entirely rainwater after all. He lets out a ragged breath. “ _Gods_ , I’m _such_ an idiot.”

Ez says nothing. He watches him expectantly, waiting for an explanation that Callum can barely string together in his own mind.

“She - she - uh -” Callum clears his throat. “This whole time, she - _gods_ , and I just carried on like nothing was different but it must have been _killing_ her, and I didn’t even _notice -”_ He takes a shuddering breath. “It’s my fault, Ez. She left because of me. Because she’s -” He stops. He still can’t say it out loud.

“Because she’s in love with you?” finishes Ezran.

Callum stops. He stares at his brother, open mouthed and wide-eyed. “You _knew_?”

“Of course I knew,” says Ezran. “How could I not? I see the way she looks at you.”

“You -” he starts breathlessly. “You knew and you didn’t tell me?”

“I tried.” Ezran shrugs, keeping his eyes on the straw on the stable floor. “In any case, it wasn’t my secret to tell.”

“ _‘It wasn’t-’_ ” Callum scowls, frustrated and furious, although at whom, he’s not sure. At Rayla for not talking to him. At Ezran for knowing and never saying anything. Mostly at himself, he thinks, for allowing it to come to this. “It was _me,_ Ez!” he cries hoarsely. “ _I_ did this - this whole time, I thought your _stupid_ arranged marriage idea was what was screwing us up, but it was _me._ _I_ was the one hurting her, and now she’s -” He huffs, dropping onto the floor with his back against the far wall and his head in his hands. “She’s gone and it’s my fault.”

Ezran joins him. “I tried to tell you,” he says again. “You wouldn’t listen.”

“That was different!” snaps Callum. “You told me we were in love with _each other_ , and that wasn’t - we _weren’t_ -”

“Weren’t you?” Ez challenges. “Rayla loves you, Callum. She has for a while now, I think, but I don’t think she actually admitted it to herself until a few days ago. She was here before, and I‘ve _never_ seen her so upset. And I think she was scared, and that she tried for the _longest_ time to pretend it was nothing, but the more you travelled, and the closer you got, the harder it was for her to ignore.”

Callum has nothing to say to that. Hearing it in so many words makes his heart clench painfully within his ribs because there’s no way to make this better. _He_ did this. _He_ hurt her. His constant need to be around her - to touch her and comfort her and hold her - must have been agony for her and he’d never even _considered_ the consequences of it.

“How do I fix this, Ez?” Callum croaks at last. “I just - I just want her to be _okay_ and _I_ did this to her and I don’t know what to _do_.”

“Yes, you do,” says Ezran. “You know you do.”

Does he? Callum really doesn’t think he does. Every part of him wants to go after her - to apologise for not catching on - to hold her and let her cry against him until she feels better, but the only rational part of him that’s left knows that he _can’t_.  

When he says nothing, Ez sighs. “Why is this so important to you?”

“I don’t - because she’s my _friend_ , Ez - don’t you want her to be okay too?”

“I do,” says Ez, “but I’m not desperate to go to her now.” He pauses, watching Callum from the corner of his eye.Then he takes a breath. “She was distraught, Callum,” he tells him quietly. “Rayla doesn’t run away from things, but the fact that she _did_ \- that’s gotta tell you something about how much she’s hurting right now. I _hated_ seeing her like that but there’s something different between you and me, and you need to know what it is before you even think about trying to talk to her or you’ll make it worse.”

Callum’s head snaps up. “You know where she is,” he breathes.

Ezran nods. “Of course,” he says. “But you can’t see her until you figure this out.”

“Ez, _please_.” Callum’s voice cracks under the strain, his heart pounding in his chest with a hope he’s afraid to admit that he has. “Where is she?”

“I can’t tell you,” says Ezran. “If you really think of her as ‘ _just a friend’_ , then you _have_ to give her the space she needs to get past this. And if you can’t do that - if you can’t _accept_ that, you need to understand why.” He pats his brother’s shoulder carefully and gets up. “Don’t stay out here too late.”

He leaves the stable without another word, and then Callum’s alone, with nothing but the turmoil in his head and the horses for company.

 

x

 

Outside, Ezran lets out a long sigh. He jogs under the inner bailey gate, cursing his brother for being so _dense_ , but he reaches into his pocket and fumbles for the glass tablet within it with wet fingers. It glints at him in the pale light, his reflection in it tired and frustrated, before he slides a thumb across the runes on the edges, and writes into it with the tip of his finger.

_Is she there?_

The tablet wipes clean a moment later, lighting up in his hands as Claudia’s fine loopy handwriting appears on the glass like rain on a foggy window. _Yep_ , it reads. _How’s Callum doing?_

 _He’s getting there,_ responds Ezran. _Won’t be long now._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've been hinting that Ez and Claudia might be up to something for ages but no one's caught me out and now I'm marginally terrified that the little things he said that didn't quite add up in previous chapters wasn't enough foreshadowing for this :|


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _She’s home._

xviii.

 

Six weeks ago, Claudia had received a letter.

It wasn’t particularly long - just a slip of parchment bearing the King’s seal and a formal summons. Eleni had delivered it. She’d been on her way home from her final shift on Ezran’s Crownguard before her leave for the baby and he’d asked her to do so personally. “I don’t think it’s anything to worry about,” she’d said. “You grew up with His Majesty, didn’t you?”

Well, yes, Claudia and Soren _had_ , but it’d been a long while since they’d seen either Ezran or Callum and after some of the things they’d done on behalf of their father, Claudia figured the distance was more than justified. It was still weird, though - at the time, she could think of no reason Ezran would choose to send _her_ a summons over his brother and Rayla, but, curious (and because a formal summons didn’t really give her a choice), Claudia had made the trip to the castle on her next free day.

Some of the palace guards had been wary of her - they remembered her father, the things that he’d done and the chaos he’d caused, but Claudia wasn’t there for them. They’d shown her to the audience chamber with an uneasy sort of respect, (the same sort, Claudia thinks now, that Rayla must have to deal with every day she and Callum are in the Pentarchy) but when the doors had opened, Ezran had greeted her with a wide grin and open arms.

“Claudia! It’s been a long time! I was going to ask Soren to come too, but…”

She’d laughed. “He’s doing better now. Not at his best yet, but definitely better.”

They’d caught up over a pot of tea and a plate of jelly tarts - Ez had complained about diplomats on both sides of the border; Claudia had gushed about Lessa - the usual sorts of things - and they were well into their second plate of jelly tarts before Ez had laid his plans out on the table for her.

“Look,” he’d said. “This thing between elves and humans… it’s not going to go away unless they’re given an example of a union that works, and, who better to show them than Callum and Rayla? It makes sense, right? Callum was going to have to marry politically anyway, but this gives him a chance to enter a marriage he might actually be _happy_ in. They care about each other a lot. It’s just - knowing them - they’re not going to take it from me. They have to see it for themselves. Will you help?”

“ _Would I?”_ Claudia had laughed at him. The past aside, she’d always hoped there might be a way to salvage her and Soren’s friendship with Callum and Ezran, and maybe even open that up to Rayla too. She’d heard the stories and the songs; seen the paintings; seen _them_ fooling around the city like children when they visited - they were _happy_. Callum’s feelings for her had long since faded, that was clear from every perspective, and Claudia had never really had a problem with it because those feelings had been replaced by a love for Rayla that was deeper and more meaningful in every possible way. They were (and are) perfect for each other, and she’d raised her teacup to Ezran and clinked it against his with an excited grin. “Sign me up!”

So she gave him a message mirror and Ezran had messaged her when Callum and Rayla had arrived; when he’d told them he wanted to marry them; of Callum’s denial and of Rayla’s reaction to it. He’d instructed her to take Callum to _The Wishbone_ when he needed to be shown the simplicity of the future he _could_ have; and she’d made sure that _every_ interaction they had with her, and Ailas, and Eleni, and Soren forced them to think about what they meant to each other.

All they ever intended was to make them think. Everything else was secondary to that.

So when Ezran’s scrawl lights up her own message mirror today with a message that reads, _Rayla’s on her way to The Wishbone. She’s pretty upset. Can you guys look out for her?_ , she drops everything and tosses Soren’s cane at him.

“Get your coat, Soren, we’ve gotta move.”

“What - but - _dinner_ -”

“Well, you can stay if you want, but I’m not explaining to Lessa that her favourite uncle was too lazy to make sure Prince Callum and Lady Rayla got their happily ever after.”

Soren makes a face. “Fine.”

 

x

 

Rayla’s drenched when she tugs Vorobey to a stop outside _The Wishbone_.

She shivers as she climbs off her, the rain cold and heavy against her skin. The lights in the shop come to life before she even raises a fist to knock, and when the door swings open, Eleni appears in the doorway and offers her a kind smile.

Rayla swallows. “I’m - I’m sorry for bothering you so late,” she manages hoarsely. “Ezran - Ez said -”

“My Lady,” says Eleni with a hurried curtsey. “Please don’t apologise. Come inside, you must be freezing.” She tugs Rayla into the shop without waiting for confirmation, catching a towel with a deft hand as someone tosses it to her from the stairs. “Have you met Ailas?” she asks absently, throwing the towel over Rayla’s shoulders.

Rayla shakes her head, and an elf - Ailas, she presumes - steps into the light and offers her bow, something like an impish smirk on his lips. “My Lady.”

It’s a joke, obviously - elves have no such titles - but Rayla is so numb with cold and heartache that she barely has it in her to smile. She mutters a “ _Thanks,”_ under her breath as she allows Eleni to pat her dry, grateful to be out of the rain and for their warmth and hospitality.

They usher her up the stairs - her first, then Eleni, then Ailas - and she’s greeted by Lessa’s toothy smile, and Claudia and Soren.

“Lady Rayla!” says Lessa happily, but Soren holds her back and hoists her onto his hip with a huff.

“Not yet, Chicken, Rayla’s all wet and gotta get changed first.” He nods at her, and Rayla notes the way he’s grown. He doesn’t look at her the way he did all those years ago, eyes filled with disdain because she was just the enemy and nothing more. There’s maturity there now, and an empathy that makes Rayla wonder how much he knows. She nods back, offers Lessa the closest thing to a smile she can muster, before Claudia presses a bundle of material into her hands.

“Go get changed,” she says. “You’ll be warmer.”

Rayla hesitates. Fiddles with the hem of the shift in her arms. Considers asking what Ezran told them but decides, in the end, that she’d rather not know. Instead, Eleni lets her into Lessa’s bedroom to change.

“We don’t have a spare room,” she says, “but Lessa’s offered hers to you, if you don’t mind sharing. We can hang your things by the fire to dry, and there’s some soup ready for you if you want it.”

“Thank you,” murmurs Rayla. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

“Probably not,” says Eleni. “But a Lady like yourself shouldn’t be left out there with no place to stay.”

“I suppose.”

A pause settles between them. Eleni purses her lips, but even in the dark, Rayla can see the sympathy in her eyes and in her smile. When Rayla says nothing else, she curtseys once more, bidding her, “My Lady,” as she takes her leave, but Rayla starts forward.

“Eleni.”

Eleni pauses for a moment longer, hand against the doorknob, the shine of her red-brown hair visible in the dim light.

Rayla forgets what to say the moment she turns. Another thank you, perhaps? A promise to be out of their hair by the morning? She’s not sure. Maybe she’s just afraid to be left alone in the dark with her thoughts and her feelings with nothing to distract her from them. She’s still not even sure what Ezran told them, let alone how, and in spite of the heaviness in her heart, she finds herself needing to ask. “What - what do you know?”

Eleni smiles. It’s maternal and comforting, and it warms Rayla’s bones, even in the chill of her still-wet clothes. “Enough to promise you that it’s going to be okay,” she says. “And I mean that. You should get dressed, My Lady. You’ll catch a cold.”

 

x

 

The shift is rough against on her skin, but Rayla hardly notices it. In the end, the company, no matter how welcome it is, is too much for her, and she retreats into Lessa’s bedroom and shrinks in on herself with her back against the wall. She must fall asleep, she thinks, because when she wakes again, Lessa is curled in her arms, and Claudia is seated at the edge of the bed.

“Do you really think Prince Callum will come?” whispers Lessa.

Claudia chuckles softly in the dark. “He will,” she whispers back. “I know he will.”

Then Claudia’s gone, and Rayla wonders if perhaps it was just a dream, contrived out of the last of her hope and longing for the Prince who’d never loved her back.

 

x

 

Callum doesn’t sleep at all.

He tosses and turns in his bed; stares at the ceiling; tries to lull himself to sleep with the sound of storm, but he sees Rayla when he closes his eyes, and his mind reminds him every moment he’s awake the she’d left because of _him._

He’s an idiot, he thinks for the thousandth time, and he promises himself that the next time she calls him a dummy - if there’s a next time at all - he won’t object. She could call him a range of synonyms and he wouldn’t mind it. He just wishes she were here.

His heart aches. His chest feels hollow. His eyes prickle and fill with water, and twice, he blinks it out of the way and allows tears to roll down his temples. In the end, he gets up.

The rain stops just before dawn, and it finds him with a coat shrugged over his shoulders and hidden away in an embrasure on the North Tower. It’s still overcast, but the clouds tinge orange as the sun peers over the horizon. That reminds him of her too.

She’s everywhere to him, and at the same time, not there at all. He sees her in the halls and hears her laugh in the silence; feels the ghost of her touch against his skin and the silk of her hair between his fingers; remembers the warmth of her hands like he's holding them tight within his. The North Tower is full of her - the night they’d shared that bottle of moonberry cider fresh in his memory; the days he’d taught her to sign fresher still.

It’s lighter when the trapdoor creaks open.

Callum wipes at his face with the arm of his jacket; tries to hide whatever traces of sadness might still be there - but it’s Aunt Amaya who climbs onto the landing, and she smiles at him as closes the trapdoor gently after her.

She signs nothing as she leans against a merlon - the way he does when Rayla’s sitting in his place, he realizes. Her silence is inquisitive, but she doesn’t ask. She only waits, and Callum breathes in the scent of rain before he plucks up the courage to address her at last.

His throat feels sore, and it closes up anyway when he tries to speak, so he signs to her instead. _I miss her._

Amaya nods, but still, she signs nothing.

Callum draws another breath. _I miss her a_ _lot_ _,_ he tells her. _All I can think about is her smile and her laugh and how much I just want her to be here and happy with me. But she’s gone, and it’s my fault._

Amaya snorts gently, something like a smile tugging at her lips. _You remind me of your mother_ , she signs to him. _A little slow on the uptake, sometimes, but she always got there in the end. It was months before she realized King Harrow was trying to get her attention. I think you may have beaten her record._

 _Well, thanks_ , signs Callum, his expression dry. _That makes me feel a ton better._

Amaya rolls her eyes good-naturedly, her snort becoming a tiny breath of a chuckle. _Your mother’s marriage was arranged too, remember? Although, I think she took it much better than you. It helped, I think, that she and Harrow were already a little in love._

_Ezran really told you everything, huh?_

_Most of it,_ she signs, shrugging. _I had to know, didn’t I?_ She gives him a look - one that asks if he might tell her more, or if she should just go and ask Ezran for the rest of it.

Callum sighs. _We’ve been friends a long time, Aunt Amaya,_ he tells her. _Well. Maybe not that long - but we’ve been together through some really hard times that… I guess I don’t really know how to be without her. We protect each other, and we take care of each other, and… I know what everybody’s been thinking, but I always thought love would involve fireworks, and butterflies in your stomach, and awkward blushing stuff, but I don’t have that with her._

 _What do you have with her?_ Amaya asks.  _What is she to you to begin with?_

Callum pauses. He thinks about her presence beside him; her smile on cold days; her voice when they’re in Xadia and he misses Katolis; her eyes and her touch and her laugh -

She’s safe harbour when he’s lost and comfort when he’s found. She’s a constant when he’s confused and a guide when his decisions aren’t the wisest. She’s light when all he thinks there is is darkness. She’s his friend. She’s his partner.

_She’s home._

Amaya gives him a look, and the realization fills his chest with warmth and hope and _love_ and -

He scrambles out of the embrasure. “I’m an idiot,” he declares. The lump in his throat is gone at last, and his heart beats too quickly in his chest for him to keep up but it doesn’t matter - he’s an _idiot_ , and he’ll wear that like a badge of honour if it means he can go to her now and tell her himself. He makes for the trapdoor, shouting it over the castle once more. “I’m an idiot!”

Amaya catches his arm. _Where are you going?_

“To tell her that I'm an idiot!” he says stupidly. “Oh, gods, Aunt Amaya, I’m the _biggest idiot in this whole entire world_ and she needs to know - I have to -”

_Do you know where she is?_

“Oh.” Callum almost deflates. “It doesn’t matter, I’ll ask Ezran.”

She smiles at him. _You won’t need to do that,_ she signs, pulling a glass tablet from her pocket.

Callum recognizes what it is immediately - Claudia had given one to Rayla a little while ago and told her to write into it if she needed to talk. He should be curious, he thinks, but he’s too excited and too hopeful to wonder about it now. He takes it from Amaya, frowning a little and unsure how to activate it, but he slides a thumb across the runes on the edges as he examines it and it lights up in his hands.

His breath leaves him as Claudia’s handwriting appears on the glass.

_She’s at The Wishbone. See you soon!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol yeah I have to be up in six hours but fuck sleep amiright


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He tastes like the rain.

xix.

 

The palace guards must think he’s finally lost it. He catches the looks on their faces as he sprints past - the confused frowns and the looks of incredulity as he leaves his Aunt Amaya in his dust, excited grin on his face, frantic joy in his heart. Ultimately, Callum doesn’t care. He hasn’t lost it at all - he’s _found_ it, and the only other thought that races through his mind (apart from _I’m an idiot_ ) is _how?_

How had he missed it? How had he spent so long in Rayla’s presence, enjoying her smile and relishing her touch, _without realizing_ how much he loves her? He wants to laugh. He wants to go back in time and slap his past self for it. More than anything, he wants to hold her to him now and apologise over and over again for being such a _moron_ . He’d hurt her _so much_ because he’d been too dumb to notice otherwise, and gods, she deserves _so much_ better, but he _loves_ her, and he’s an idiot, and he _needs_ her to know.

He clutches the little glass tablet tighter, its edges digging into the flesh of his fingers as he trips over folds in the carpets and cracks in the stones. Aunt Amaya had told him it was Ezran’s, and, somewhere in Callum’s mind, he feels like they might need to have a talk about why he had one in the first place, but there’s hardly room in his mind for that right now. Right now, there’s only Rayla.

The thought of her fills his mind and lifts his heart and his lungs are _burning_ when he stumbles into the stables at last, but he doesn’t care. There’s only her: the violet of her eyes; the silver of her hair; the beauty of her smile, and _gods_ , he really is the biggest idiot in this whole entire world. She’ll tell him so, he imagines - he _hopes_ , because there’s every chance she won’t want to see him after the _hell_ he put her through, but she _needs_ to know.

He saddles the mare he’d ridden a few days ago with clumsy hands, muttering an apology to her as he sets the saddle down too heavily on her back and tightens the strap too quickly around her belly. She brays, irritated, but she relaxes as he offers her an entire carrot from the bucket at the door.

“I’m literally the worst,” he says, patting her snout gently. “And I know I’m not Ezran and you probably have no idea what I’m saying, but we need to get to _The Wishbone_ as fast as possible. Think you can help me out?”

The mare huffs.

Callum takes that as a yes. He climbs into the saddle with a grin, more confident on a horse than he’s ever been in his life, and shakes her reigns. She gallops forward, and Callum whoops, his heart beating in time with his scarf as it flutters behind them in the cool morning air.

 

x

 

The cold is biting when Rayla wakes the next morning. It’s barely past dawn. The rain must have stopped some time last night because there are patches of orange sky visible through the lead-lined glass of Lessa’s window. It would make for a lovely morning, she thinks, if her chest didn’t feel so hollow.

Lessa’s still asleep, her head pillowed over Rayla’s arm, the red-brown of her hair blending into the material of the shift Claudia had lent her last night. Grimacing, and afraid to disturb her, Rayla eases her arm back, breath hitching in her throat as Lessa stirs in her sleep but doesn’t wake. When she manages to climb out of the bed at last, the door opens, and Claudia offers her a tired smile and cup of something brown and sweet and bitter.

“How’re you doing?” she asks quietly.

Rayla shrugs “Could be better, I guess.”

Claudia stifles a snort and holds the cup out to her. “Dark magic free, I promise. It’ll warm you right up.”

There’s not much else to do, and figuring she should probably get her things together and get out of Ailas and Eleni’s hair, Rayla shrugs a second time, accepting the cup with cold fingers as Claudia ushers her back into the living room.

The only other person awake is Ailas. Soren is sprawled on the chaise in the corner, cane leaning against the raised backrest. Eleni, she figures, is still asleep.

“My Lady,” says Ailas, hiding a smirk behind his own cup. “Did you sleep well?”

Rayla scowls at him, but whatever sass she might have for him dies on her tongue when she remembers that he and Eleni had taken her in with no questions asked. She looks between him and Claudia, noting the bags under their eyes and the exhaustion on both their faces. “Did either of _you_?”

Ailas shrugs noncommittally and sips at his own cup. “We’ve had worse nights. I imagine we’ll have to get used to allnighters again soon anyway.”

Rayla purses her lips. She watches Claudia disappear downstairs to open up shop for the day out of the corner of her eye, but her mind drifts to Eleni and the unborn child within her belly, and to Lessa, and the little horns peeping out of her hair. “How do you deal with it?” she asks. “The staring, I mean. It can’t be easy, being so far from home.”

“Speak for yourself,” says Ailas absently. “My family’s here. This _is_ home.”

“But -” Rayla cuts herself off. She stares into the murky depths of her cup wondering how she might phrase her next sentence. “There are people who aren’t happy about this. Elves, I mean. Settling in the human kingdoms.”

“And there are people who are.” He smiles at her over the top of his cup. “The others will learn.”

“But - I mean - Lessa, and - and your baby. It won’t be easy for _them_ -”

“It’ll get easier.” Ailas sets his cup down and leans back in his chair. His smile is odd - grim, but understanding; accepting of the circumstances, but hopeful that they’ll change. He has no pretence around the situation, she realizes, but he doesn’t much care for it, either. “It’s stupid,” he says mildly. “This… _hostility_ , between elves and humans. Eleni and I weren’t going to wait for them to be ready. Change doesn’t come about by waiting, after all. You know that better than anyone.”

She does. It’s hard, and their people still shout themselves hoarse over each other for no reason, but the difference is real to her now. Ailas and his family are proof of it, and it’d be a terrible shame to quit now - she’s just not sure that she can keep going the way she and Callum had been. Things have changed too much, she thinks, and Callum will be happier if he’s not dogged by feelings he doesn’t return.

Perhaps she’ll go home. See Zym, and join his Dragon Guard for a while to let her feelings settle. It’ll be easier there, probably, and she can go back to being an ambassador once she’s learned how to be a person around Callum. She can live with that. She’ll learn how to if it means he’ll be better off in the long run.

Ailas chuckles at her. “You two really are something,” he says, picking up his cup again.

Rayla feels her shoulders tense. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’ve heard the songs,” he says. “There isn’t a bard who sings about you who doesn't sing about him too. You don’t really think this will be it, do you?”

Rayla looks away. “There’s no coming back from something like this, Ailas,” she mumbles.

“What, you’ll just go home, and… that’s it?”

“What else am I supposed to do?” she snaps. It comes out louder than she means, and she winces, eyeing Soren, still sleeping on the chaise. “There’s nothing else _to_ do. He doesn’t -” She takes a breath, steeling herself for the cold, hard fact that it is. “He doesn’t love me, and he’ll be happier if he doesn’t have to deal with it.”

“He doesn’t love you, you say?” Ailas snorts. He nods at something behind her. “What’s he doing here, then?”

Rayla turns, her eyes wide, her heart in her throat and -

He’s there, his cheeks flushed from the cold, his hair a windswept mess, his lips parted like he’s not sure he’s really seeing her, but he’s _there_ , and Rayla scrambles out of her seat, knocking her cup and spilling its contents over the rim, and over the sleeve of Claudia’s shift.  Vaguely, she hears Ailas get up, squeezing past them and heading downstairs to help with the shop, but it’s just background noise to her because Callum is _there_ , looking at her like he hasn’t seen her in months.

“Callum - I -”

He crosses the room in four steps, and she’s in his arms before she has the chance to stop him, her heart pounding so loudly and so painfully in her chest that he _must_ feel it against his. She tries to pull away, but his embrace is firm and unyielding and she’s missed his closeness and longed for it so much that she doesn’t have the heart to really fight it. “Callum - I - I can’t _-_ ”

“Oh, Rayla, I’m so sorry,” he whispers against her, his nose pressed into the crook of her neck and shoulder as he tries to breathe her in. “I’m sorry, _gods_ , I’m _such_ an idiot, and I’m _sorry_ -”

“I -”

“Hear me out,” he manages, his voice hoarse. He pulls away from her briefly, just far enough to look at her and to cup her face, and _again_ , Rayla tries to fight it, but she _can’t_.

Her heart aches for him and because of him, and his eyes are so green and so beautiful that she can’t look away, even now, as she tries to pry herself out of his grasp. “Callum,” she croaks, forcing a sob away as it tries to claw its way out of her throat. “ _Please_ , I can’t do this anymore -”

He shakes his head furiously and presses his forehead against hers. “Rayla - Rayla, please, just hear me out, okay?” He takes a breath, shallow and shuddering and like he might be holding back a sob too. “ _Gods_ , I don’t know how I’m ever going to make it up to you after what I did, but you - you have to know. _I’m an idiot_ . All this time, and I had _no idea_ -”

“You don’t have to explain yourself, I -”

“ _Listen_ ,” he insists - he _begs_ . He presses his lips to her forehead like he thinks it might still her and it does - Rayla forgets how to breathe, whatever arguments she might have against this caught in her throat as he tilts her face towards him, his eyes shining with joy, and guilt, and heartache, and _love_ all at once.

“You - you’ve always been there,” he murmurs, thumbs brushing the skin of her cheeks. “Always. And I - I just assumed you always would be, and for a while it was because I thought I’d just - y’know - made you this - this default. I didn’t realise - didn’t even _consider_ what it was doing to you, and I’m _sorry_ for it but, even more -” He takes a breath, and he laughs like it’s ridiculous to him that it got this far to begin with.

“I always thought there’d be fireworks,” he whispers. “Or butterflies in my stomach, or some - some big moment where I’d look at you and know for certain, but there’s only you - there’s _always_ only been you, and _you_ \- you are so beautiful, and so kind, and so, _so_ perfect - how could I ever make you think I don’t love you?”

It comes out in a rush, and at first, Rayla thinks she might have misheard, but he kisses her forehead again, and then her temples, and then her cheeks. He hesitates at her mouth, their noses pressed together, his lips so close that she can feel the way his breath trembles against hers. He’s waiting for permission, she thinks - for confirmation that this is _okay_ \- that he can close this gap between them once and for all -

She does it for him.

He tastes like the rain - his lips cold and sweet and everything she’s wanted for so long that her heart almost explodes in her chest. She doesn’t know when the tears started, but they’re there now, leaving trails along her cheeks and past his thumbs as he caresses the marks under her eyes, and when she pulls away, her breath comes in with a sob. She leans into his touch, and when she finally, _finally_ , finds words, they’re barely a whisper. “You’re an _idiot_ ,” she mumbles.

“I know!” he laughs, like he’s proud of it. He kisses her forehead once more. “Rayla, I’m so, _so_ sorry for what I put you through, but please, never, _ever_ doubt it again.”

“That you’re an idiot?”

“That I _love you_ ,” he promises, his grin so wide and so happy that he doesn’t even try to stop his own tears as they leak from his eyes. He’s so caught up in her that he doesn’t even argue beyond that. “I _love_ you,” he says again, like he’s savouring the words on his tongue. “Please. Don’t ever forget it.”

Despite her tears and the stress of it all, despite the hell that this past week and a half has been, she laughs too, and she pulls his face to hers once more. “Don’t let me,” she whispers.

He answers her with a kiss.

 

x

 

They spend the rest of the day at _The Wishbone_.

Claudia and Eleni are thrilled for them. Ailas and Soren make fun of them. Lessa’s convinced they’re characters from a fairy tale.

At a more acceptable time of day, when the sun is higher in the sky and they’ve all had a little more than tea and that hot-brown-morning potion Claudia brews sitting in their stomach, Ailas opens a bottle of moonberry cider. They make dumb toasts to each other, and real toasts to Callum and Rayla and their unabashed affection, and, later, Lessa climbs into Rayla’s lap and asks Callum a question.

“Are you gonna marry Lady Rayla, Your Highness?”

A pause settles in the apartment, but Callum catches Rayla’s eye over the top of Lessa’s tiny horns, and he smiles.

“Maybe,” he tells her. “If she wants me to.”

It’s still something they have to discuss, but he means it, and Rayla plants a kiss against the back of his hand as a promise that they will.

They get back to the castle just after nightfall, all smiles and giggles, with her hand firmly in his as they climb the steps in the West Wing to their rooms on the fourth floor. When Rayla opens her door, Callum pauses, reluctant to let their hands come apart.

“Are you okay?” Rayla asks him.

“Yeah,” he whispers. “I just… don’t ever want to let you go, I guess.”

She opens the door wider for him, shy smile gracing her lips. “You don’t have to.”

So he doesn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All righty team, here's where I'm gonna need your help! Let's not beat around the bush here, okay, they've been very stressed and there's a lot of pent up emotion here, so yeah, NSFW things are happening behind Rayla's door. The question is this:
> 
> How much of it do you want me to write?  
> a) Mild - just enough so you know what happened, but in the vaguest possible way  
> b) Moderate - nothing too explicit but don't really mind either way  
> c) Marked - the whole thing
> 
> Remember kids! They're eighteen in this fic, and I will put appropriate warnings at the beginning of the next chapter to give y'all the heads up if we need it. Tell me what you want in the comments, and I'll do it!


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “My dad wrote me a letter before he died,” he tells her. “He said to reject the idea that history was narrative of strength and instead consider the idea that it can be a narrative of love. That’s what I’m doing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **IMPORTANT STUFF, PLEASE READ:** As per majority vote, I wrote the whole damn thing. The centre-aligned **xx** 's mark the start and end of anything explicit but also please be aware that there's still a little non-explicit nudity following, but it's all very tame. Quick reminder to everyone that Callum and Rayla are both 18 in this fic, but other than that: enjoy!

xx.

  


Her lips are soft. Callum wonders, quietly, how he ever went so long without knowing the feeling of them pressed against his own. He smiles against her, his hands on her waist as he shuts the door behind them, enjoying her closeness and the way she fits against him. Her clothes feel rough against the pads of his fingers, every crease and crinkle an obvious obstruction to the rest of her. The thought makes him pause.

He eases back, just enough to let out a slow, shaky breath, and he realizes, probably a little too late, how foreign this is for the both of them.

He’s never kissed anyone before. He was on the edge of fifteen when he met her, when he still had that crush on Claudia, and after that, it’s just been her. There’s never been anyone else and, as easy as this is - as _natural_ to him as it feels - it’s still so _new_ that he can’t help but feel just a little nervous.

He hears Rayla swallow, her cheeks flushed as she brushes the hair out of his eyes. “Are you okay?”

Callum nods, kissing her nose lightly to assure her. “I’m - ah - I’ve just never done this before,” he murmurs, although he’s not entirely sure what he means by _‘this’_ . He’s not even really sure what he expects to happen, now that all their secrets are laid bare, and now that they’re alone for the first time since. He certainly doesn’t want to expect anything she’s not ready for - heck, _he’s_ not fully certain what _he’s_ ready for - but he knows he wants to find out with her.

“That’s okay,” admits Rayla quietly. “I haven't either.”

“Do you want to stop?”

She shakes her head. There’s nervousness on her face too, but there’s something darker - something _wanting_ \- in her eyes. “Not really.”

He breathes out. “Neither do I.”

 

**xx**

 

His hands are gentle as he eases off her vest and slides it down her arms; as he undoes her shirt and trails his fingers along her collar; as he leans in to press a kiss against her jaw, and her neck, and her ears. His lips make her skin tingle, and when he relieves her of her shirt entirely, there are goose-pimples along her arms and across the swell of her breasts.

Her own fingers tremble as she does the same for him. She pushes his jacket from his shoulders, and unclasps his belt, and pulls his sketchbook and his shirt over his head, and all of it goes in a pile on the floor, unnoticed and uncared for as they take each other in.

She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t nervous, but it’s _Callum_ , and even if her breath _does_ shake as she undresses him and he her, there’s care in his movements. He loves her, she remembers, and the thought makes her smile as he sits her down on the edge of the bed and kneels before her to tug off her boots. Her pants go next, and then her underthings, and then she’s naked before him, the paleness of her skin stained pink under his stare.

Her first instinct is to cover herself - to hide under the blankets, or to place an arm across her breasts, but she’d learned how to trust him implicitly years ago. She trusts him implicitly now.

“You are so beautiful,” he murmurs, kissing her lips once more.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” she whispers. He’s bare from the waist up, his muscles firm under the light tan of his skin. There’s hair low on his abdomen, and it disappears behind the waistband of the pants she’s yet to take from him, the tumescence at his crotch difficult to ignore. It makes her swallow, even as he trails his lips over her breasts, leaving more goose-pimples in his wake. Her hands card through his hair as he kisses her lower, across the taut skin of her belly, and then lower still, until he’s parting her legs and kneeling between them and lowering his mouth onto her core.

There’s wetness there already, and Rayla’s immediate response is to try and bring her knees together, like she’s afraid of the sensation, or of how she might taste to him, but he kisses the skin of her inner thighs and waits for her to relax before he continues.

She does. He loves her, she reminds herself, and the thought alone makes the tension leave her muscles.

“Lean back a little,” he whispers, his breath against her making her own shudder as she draws one in. She does as she’s told, leaning back on her forearms to give him better access, and when his lips touch her, she _gasps_ as warmth fills her chest and floods her senses. Somewhere in her mind, she wonders how he could _know_ , but Callum’s always been curious about anything and everything, and it only makes sense for him to be curious about this too.

She lies back entirely, throwing one of her hands over her mouth to stifle the sound as he explores her with his, and then his fingers, her own wetness granting him entry with little resistance. He hesitates every time she whimpers, his concern for her obvious, but he doesn’t stop, and Rayla arches her back and groans into her hand as pleasure coils in in her abdomen.

He has a finger buried within her to the knuckle when she comes undone, her muscles clenching and unclenching around him, his movements working her ragged until she’s a breathless, boneless heap. When he pulls away from her, she misses his warmth immediately, and the single coherent part of her brain left makes her sit up a little and watch as he tugs his pants off his hips.

“Was that okay?” he asks, climbing into the bed with her.

She nods, still breathless, still flushed, still unable to put words together in a sentence that would makes sense.

He grins at her, pleased, and when he kisses her this time, she tastes herself on his lips. He pulls her to him, her chest flush against his, her skin tingling under his fingers as he caresses the side of her breast and the curve of her waist, but his eyes never leave hers. There’s so much _love_ in them, but there's uncertainty in them too, like he wants to continue but he’s not sure what to do next, and like he’s reluctant to push her too far too quickly.

Rayla almost laughs. He’s so caring and so sweet, and all he wants is to make sure that she knows he loves her, and _oh_ , how she knows. Later - much later, once they’ve made a decision about Ezran’s proposal, and once this becomes normal for them, she’ll probably make fun of him for not noticing for so long, but right now, his confidence is failing him, and she needs him to know that she loves him too.

She climbs on top of him, knees on either side of his waist, hovering over his length momentarily as she waits for his permission. He nods, words caught in his throat, and Rayla sighs, something like a moan escaping from the back of her throat as she takes him in. She pauses, allowing herself to adjust, her heart quick, her breath heavy, the reality of what they’re doing settling like lead in her stomach. But he loves her, she reminds herself once more. The thought settles her, the memory of his words to her in _The Wishbone_ still fresh in her mind. She’s home, and she’s safe, and _gods_ , how she loves him too.

She loves his hands and how well they fit around hers, loves his voice and the way it reverberates in her ribs, loves his eyes and the way they look at her like she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. She could never doubt him now, she thinks. Not when he looks at her with eyes like that, the green of them soft and filled with their future. “I never told you back, did I?” she breathes.

“Hm?”

“That I love you.”

“You shouldn't have to,” says Callum, his voice shaking as she begins to move. “Tell me, I mean. I should have known. I should have - mm - paid better attention.”

“You won’t miss it now, will you?”

“Never,” he laughs, his hands going to her hips to guide her movements. “And I love you.”

The words send a tingle up her spine, and she smiles as she leans over to kiss him. “I could get used to hearing that.”

“Yeah?” chuckles Callum. He stops her, curls an arm around her waist, and rolls them over, careful not to hurt her, careful not to interrupt her rhythm. He takes over then, his fingers intertwining with hers as he moves within her. “I love you,” he whispers.

Rayla groans, angling her hips for him as pleasure coils in her abdomen. “Oh, Callum -”

“I love you,” he murmurs again. He kisses her ears and nips gently at the tender skin under her jaw. “ _I love you_.”

She hisses, clutching his hands tight as that same pressure from before builds within her again. “ _Callum_ ,” she manages. “Moon above, Callum -”

He bares his teeth, his words failing him as he rocks against her, his fingers digging into the backs of her hands like he’s fighting the waning of his concentration. He’s trying to be gentle, she thinks, but even she can tell he’s too inexperienced to please her the way he wants to. Still, his movements make her moan, and she eases her hands from his grip as his breath begins to come short.

“Callum,” she whispers, tracing his jaw, knowing he won't quite make it to her release. “It’s okay.”

“I -”

“It’s okay.”

He groans, and his hips jerk as he comes, his movements erratic and uneven until he stops altogether and eases back. “I’m sorry,” he mutters. “That was - I should have -”

“Callum.” She smiles, pressing a kiss to his brow. “It’s okay.”

He huffs, his seed spilling from between her legs when he draws away from her entirely. Frustrated, he pulls her back to him, her back against his chest, his fingers flying back to the bundle of nerves at her core. She cries out, still sensitive from having him within her, but he holds her close and touches her until her hips arch away from him. She comes with a gasp, moaning his name against her palm until the world falls away and all she knows is Callum’s lips on her shoulder and her heart fluttering within her ribs.

“You - you didn’t have to -”

“I wanted to,” he whispers, kissing the space between her horns. “I love you.”

She sighs, content and happy and so, _so_ in love. “I know.”

 

**xx**

 

She falls asleep against his shoulder later, silver hair splayed across his chest, his left hand resting idly against her waist, but despite the weariness in his bones and the way it gnaws at him, Callum doesn’t sleep. There’s a lot going on in his mind right now, and Rayla’s gentle breathing is soothing to him and it eases his mind as his thoughts run rampant through his head.  

He still feels guilty, he thinks. How long has he loved her? How long had he forced her to bear his affection and made her think it was entirely platonic? How long had he considered her _home_ before her aversion to him forced him to notice? He’s been a tried-and-true idiot these past years, and he’ll probably never make it up to her - not the way he wants to - but she’s here now, in his arms where she belongs and he hopes it’s a start.

She’s pretty in the moonlight. It’s probably just him but he hopes, secretly, that everyone sees her the way he does - breathtaking and lovely and so beautiful that he wonders _again_ how he _possibly_ could have missed it. He smiles into her hair and presses a kiss on the crown of her head, hoping he’ll have this image of her forever before he remembers that he _can_ if he draws it now.

He reaches for his sketchbook. She’d left it on the floor with the rest of his things, and it’s a struggle to get hold of it without waking her, but he manages okay. At most, she stirs against him, but she doesn’t wake, even as he shifts to balance the journal against his knee.

He’s drawn her a lot over the years, and the fact that he’d been in love with her the whole time becomes even _more_ obvious as he flips through them. She’s smiling, usually - there’s a sketch of her there, blades at the ready before a spar; another of her laughing with those kids they’d met in Neolandia; a third from years ago, of her sitting by the fire with Zym. She’s been the primary subject of his sketches for ages, and he thinks he’d told himself that she was just an interesting subject - her horns and her ears and her fingers still fascinating to him, even now - but even he can’t deny how _obvious_ it must have been to anyone that wasn’t them.

He wonders if that’s what this whole arranged marriage thing was about. He has no doubts that Ez wanted them to be an example for their people, but had his brother known what he’d been doing to Rayla? Is that why he had one of those mirrors from Claudia? Had she been in on this too?

Some part of him supposes that he should be mad that they’d interfered, but then, how much longer would he have gone on ignoring his feelings? How much longer would he have hurt her for it? She’d left yesterday, because she couldn’t do it anymore. She might have left anyway and he’d never understand why. At least Ez and Claudia’s interference gave him the chance to rectify it before -

He swallows, glancing at Rayla once more and deciding he doesn’t want to think about it.

He must nudge her or something while he’s sketching her horns, because she stirs a little, her eyes fluttering open as she shifts against his shoulder.

“‘S’it my turn for watch?” she asks tiredly.

Callum blinks at her. She hasn’t asked him that question in years - but then, she hasn’t needed to. They haven’t slept in such close quarters since the end of the war, but even then, it was nothing like this. He stifles a laugh in her hair. “Not tonight, Rayla. Go back to sleep. I’ll look after you.”

She sighs, tugging the sheets over her shoulders. “Will you really?”

Callum smiles. “Always.”

 

x

 

He draws her a bath in the morning.

She sleeps through the noise - she must need it, Callum thinks, and he can’t even really blame her. It’s been a _hard_ couple of weeks, and a fair bit of it is his fault, and he just wants to let her have _one_ day to herself before they both have to face the rest of the world and whatever judgements they might have. He dresses quickly, intent on fetching her some tea while the tub fills, and when he gets back, she’s sitting up in bed, blinking blearily at her surroundings, sheets pulled protectively over her chest.

“Hey,” he says, setting the tea on the desk by the window. “You okay?”

She stares at him, and at the tray of tea on the desk, and at the bathtub filling with water through the open door on the far wall. Her eyes widen, just a little, realization dawning in her features the same way the early morning sun had not an hour ago. “Last night,” she croaks. “That was real?”

“It was,” says Callum, lips tilting upwards a little in her confusion.

“We -”

“Yep.”

She pauses, her breath stuck in her throat like she’s afraid this might still be a dream. “You love me?” she breathes.

Callum makes a face. “You forgot already,” he pouts. “We can’t have that.” He takes her hands in his and tugs her upwards, the sheet falling reluctantly away from her body and back onto the bed. She flushes - there’s no heat of the moment to help her forget her state of undress this morning, but the more lucid she becomes, the more relaxed she grows.

The morning is cold, the first signs of winter making itself present on Rayla’s skin in the form of the goose-pimples on her shoulders. Callum stops her at the bathroom door to test the water before she climbs in, and, frowning, he draws a rune over the bath and mutters, _“Aquam calefacio,”_ under his breath. Steam fills room, the water warming quickly under his fingers, before he beckons her forwards and helps her into the copper tub.

“I brought you some tea,” he tells her, sitting against the edge of the tub. “It’s… special stuff. Just to cover us for - for last night. Should work for you too, humans and elves can’t be _that_ different. I didn’t know if you wanted it but -”

“I did,” says Rayla, drawing her knees up in front of her chest. She smiles at him, still a little self-conscious, still a little unsure of where they might stand after all of this. “Thank you,” she says awkwardly. “You didn’t have to do… any of this.”

“I think it’s the _least_ I can do,” says Callum honestly. “I… _really_ messed up.”

She shakes her head at him. “It’s not like you did any of it on purpose.”

“Still.” He rolls up his pant legs and swivels around, dipping his feet into the water to face her. “I looked through my sketchbook last night, you know. You’re in it _so much_ that I genuinely don’t understand how I didn’t figure it out earlier, and I’m so, so _sorry_ for everything I put you through these past couple of weeks - years, even.”

“You don’t have to keep apologizing, Callum.” She rolls her eyes at him, her chin resting upon her knees, her lips tilting upwards into an exasperated smile.

“How else am I going to make it up to you?”

Rayla shrugs, hiding her smile in her knees as a blush crosses her face. “You could get me my tea?” she says. “And... you could join me?”

Despite the events of last night; despite the fact that they’ve already seen each other and touched each other and held each other in the closest possible way, Callum finds himself blushing too. This is still new to them - they’re still learning how to be so intimate, but the important thing is that they’re learning together. He chuckles, steps out into her room for a moment to fetch her tea, and shrugs off his clothes to do as he’s told.

She shuffles forwards to let him climb in behind her, the bottom of her mug resting carefully on the edge of the tub, and when he’s settled, she leans back against him, the back of her head resting against his shoulder, his arms circling around her waist like they belong there.

He likes this. They’ve had a sort of casual intimacy for years, but this is so much more and he likes it a _lot_ . He wonders if she does too, and the thought of it brings up the many, _many_ things he knows they have to discuss.

She’s thinking about it too. He can see it in the way she frowns at her tea. “What are we going to do?” she asks at last.

He doesn’t need to ask about what. Callum sighs, his hand drifting absently to her shoulder to trace the lines of water along her skin. “I want you to be happy,” he murmurs after a moment. “Nothing has to change. We don’t have to get married. We don’t even have to tell anyone, if you don’t want to. I’d like it if we at least told Ez though.”

Rayla shakes her head. “You can’t seriously think we’ll be able to keep this a secret.”

“What do you mean?”

She sighs and takes a purposeful gulp of her tea. “There are guards posted down the hall, Callum. They saw me invite you in last night. They didn’t see you leave. This morning, you went down to the kitchens out of _my_ room to find _Moon Tea_ . It’ll be a miracle if people like Balan _don’t_ already know.”

“Hm.” Callum frowns, fingers pausing as he brushes her hair off the back of her neck. “That’s a little annoying, yeah.”

“A _little_?”

He snorts to himself. “Look,” he says. “I don’t really care what anyone says about us - what matters most to me is that you’re _happy_ . I don’t want you to feel like you’re being forced into a marriage with me because you’re worried about a scandal. I don’t want you to feel like you’re being forced into a marriage at _all_ . If we get married - I want it to be because you want us to be, and because you _want_ to spend the rest of your life with me. And… if you’re not sure you want to make that commitment yet - or at all - that’s _okay._ I’m with you. No matter what you say.”

Rayla giggles a little. “That’s sweet,” she murmurs. “The truth is… there’s never been anyone else. I never imagined any version of the future without you.”

“You think we should do it?”

“I don’t know.” She takes a breath. “I think about Ailas and his family, and how life could be _so_ much easier for them if we did it, but then you’d have people like Balan coming at you from every angle telling you that a union like - like ours could be is _wrong_ , and -” She swivels around a little, just enough to touch her forehead against is. “He’s been bad enough for me these last couple of weeks. If we did it… there’d be more than just him.”

Callum pauses. Then he frowns. “Wait, what did he do exactly?”

Rayla shrugs. “Standard Balan things, I guess. He came and spoke to me a couple of times to get under my skin. Tried to get me to leave. Actually succeeded when he - when he called me out on my feelings for you.” She slurps at her tea again, and Callum catches a grimace that she tries to hide in her mug.

He stares at her, furrowing his brow further when he remembers Balan’s exchange with Ezran in the stables. “He did _what_ , now?”

“It doesn’t matter,” says Rayla. “I mean, we’re here now so, really, any plan he might have to get rid of me has essentially failed.”

Maybe it has, thinks Callum, but he’s still pissed. How dare Balan even _talk_ to her? His audacity irks him, but Callum takes a breath and swallows his anger. There’s a storm brewing outside her door - they both know it - but right here, right now, things are quiet - _safe_ \- and he wants her to enjoy it especially after everything she’s been through lately. He purses his lips and says nothing for a while, reaching over her shoulder for the sponge and the jug on the other side of the tub. She hums appreciatively when he touches it to her shoulder.

They don’t say much while he works. He scrubs her arms, and her neck, and her hands, and, even more - she _lets_ him, and the intimacy of his actions not lost on either of them. She lets him wash her hair and her horns too, his fingers gentle as he massages her scalp and teases the knots out of the fine silver. When he’s done, she does the same for him.

He thinks about the issue the whole time. It’s a lot easier to understand Ezran’s argument now that they’re here and he’s not ignoring his feelings, and when it comes down to it, he knows what he wants. He wants to be with her. There was never any other option there and people like Balan can grow up or be left behind, because the world is changing for the better and he and she are leading the way.

“I love you, you know,” he says finally, swivelling around to face her.

“So you’ve said,” says Rayla, smirking. “Many times since last night.”

“I think we should do it.”

The smirk falls from her face, replaced by a look of not-quite-understanding, her eyes wide, her lips pressed into a thin line. He thinks perhaps she was expecting something else - a quip, or a joke of some sort - but certainly not this. “What?”

“Only if you agree, obviously,” says Callum. “I know it’s early, but I know how I feel, and what I want. I mean it took me a while, but I got there.”

“Callum -” She gapes for a minute. “You make it sound like it’ll be _easy_ . There are people like Balan on _both_ sides of the border. There are people in your own kingdom that’ll mock you and hate you for it. And you _want_ to put yourself through _that?_ ”

It’s not ‘no’, he notices. It’s not a refusal on her part at all, but concern for him. It’s probably one of the reasons he’d fallen in love with her to begin with, even if he didn’t know it at the time. He takes both of her hands in his and presses a long kiss into the back of each. “My dad wrote me a letter before he died,” he tells her. “He said to reject the idea that history was narrative of strength and instead consider the idea that it can be a narrative of love. That’s what I’m doing.”

“You're absolutely sure you want to do this?”

“Only if you want to too.”

She’s still sort of staring at him with that not-quite-understanding in her eyes, but when it clicks at last, she lets out a laugh and hides her face in her hands. “Let’s do it then.”

Her giggle is infectious, and it makes Callum smile too. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she says. “Let’s get married.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts filled:
> 
> From an anon on Tumblr: Callum touches Rayla's horns
> 
> Also from an anon: a confession, followed by Callum reassuring Rayla that everything will be fine despite their elf/human relationship.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “An elven Princess of Katolis. These will be interesting times indeed.”

xxi.

 

It’s a peaceful morning. They spend most of it hidden away in Rayla’s room, enjoying each other’s uninhibited affection, not quite ready for anyone else’s company but their own. She steals his jacket while he draws her; he grins good-naturedly when she tries to draw him; they laugh, and they kiss, and they cuddle, and to Rayla, it feels like a dream.

Callum promises her that it’s not, because, in his words - “Not even dreams are this good.”

She’d snorted unbecomingly at that, his smile, dumb and delighted, doing little to settle the giddiness in her system. She’s happy. He’s happy. And this is good and perfect and everything she hadn’t realized she’d wanted. Not-so-secretly, she wishes the morning would last forever, but the sun crosses the sky anyway, ignorant of their little sanctuary, and by noon, they know they can’t hide any longer. The emptiness in their stomachs is difficult to brush aside anyway, and they figure Ezran probably needs to know that they’ve come to a decision.

Callum closes his sketchbook. Rayla returns his jacket.

“Ready?” he asks her, his hand on the doorknob.

Not really, thinks Rayla, but she grips his other hand tightly, steeling herself for reality. She takes a breath. “Yeah.”

His smile is as nervous as she is, but he takes a breath too and opens the door.

 

x

 

The walk down to the dining hall is longer than she remembers. She knows why - most days, the glares that follow her around the castle are distrustful and apprehensive, but at least those she can understand. Today, there’s a sort of disgust there too, from the guards most loyal to Balan. It makes her want to shrink back, but Callum grips her hand tighter and refuses to let her, tugging her forward despite his still-nervous grin to put an arm around her shoulders. It’s a little protective, and a lot proud, but most of all, it’s a definitive decision not to _care_ . Let them run to Balan if they want - there’s a look on Callum’s face that even _dares_ them to - he loves her, and he’s not about to back down just because the castle guards aren’t ready for it.

It spurs Rayla’s confidence, and her own arm comes to a rest around his waist, the fingers on her other hand fiddling with his as they rest over her shoulder. His smile and his affection are comforting, and it soothes the tension in her back until it’s gone completely, and they’re just two kids in love, heading down to lunch like anyone else.

It’s easier after that.

 

x

 

“Aunt Amaya, will you be staying for the ball? It’s only a couple of days more.”

It’s lunchtime, and Ez swings his feet in his chair. The last couple of weeks have felt _long_ , in part because it’s been so frustrating to watch his brother and Rayla dance around each other, in part because Balan’s interference had made it even worse. He’d never meant for it to go as far as it had. The goal had always been just to make them think about what they might mean to each other, but he hasn’t seen Rayla since she left the other night, and Aunt Amaya had given Callum his message mirror so he _still_ doesn’t know if they’ve made up.

It’s a mess. Maybe if Balan hadn’t gotten involved, it would have been altogether less complicated, but guilt churns in his stomach anyway, and the thought of the ball brings him relief, if only because it means this fortnight will be over at last.

Aunt Amaya shrugs, reaching for a jelly tart in the centre of the table before she signs her response.

“I don’t see why not,” interprets Gren. “Plus I’d like to see how certain… events have panned out.”

“You think Callum and Rayla have worked things out?”

“With respect, Your Majesty,” says Gren, as himself now, “there’s talk among the castle guards that they’ve done more than just that.”

Ezran tilts his head at him, but the dining hall doors swing open and he finds he doesn’t need to ask. His face splits into a grin. He clasps his hands in front of his lips, hopeful and excited, and he climbs out of his chair to greet Callum and Rayla as they stride through the doors, his arm on her shoulder, hers around his waist.

It can only mean one thing, but Ez asks anyway. “Is everything okay now?”

They look at him, and then each other, and Callum plants a kiss on Rayla’s cheek and grins. “Better than okay,” he says. “Things are _great_.”

“ _Yes!”_ Ez lets out a cheer, and, laughing, he launches himself at the two of them and brings them into the tightest hug he can manage. “I’m so happy for you both! You guys had me seriously worried for a second there, but -” He grins at Rayla. “I told you everything would be okay.”

“You did,” says Rayla, glancing at his brother, her eyes soft. “Weird that you knew how things might turn out, though,” she drawls, turning back to Ez with a smirk pulling at her lips. “Even weirder, everyone at _The Wishbone_ also apparently knew. Care to explain, Your Majesty?”

Ezran flushes at that. He eases back guiltily, his eyes on his shoes. “Guess the banther’s out of the bag for everyone, huh?” he mutters.

Rayla scoffs. “How long had you known?”

“Since the last time you guys were here,” Ez mumbles. “I’m really sorry. Claudia and I - everyone, really - we just want you to be happy but… we shouldn’t have meddled.”

“Hm.” Callum smirks too, but he releases Rayla momentarily to fumble for something in his pocket. “This is yours,” he says, holding the message mirror out to him.

Ezran hesitates as he takes it, but Callum’s smile is genuine. “You’re not mad?”

“No,” says Callum, his fingers finding Rayla’s like they’ve always belonged intertwined with hers. “I mean probably don’t pull this kind of thing again, but… if  you and Claudia hadn’t gotten involved, I never would have figured out how I felt about Rayla. I owe you for that.” He grins at him, and then at her, bringing her hand to his lips in a show of sickening, unashamed affection that would make Ezran groan if he wasn’t so happy for them. “Oh, by the way, about that marriage you wanted to arrange.”

Ez swells, almost afraid to hope that they might have sorted this so quickly too. “You’ll do it?”

“Yeah,” says Rayla, her smile warm as she looks from him to Callum. “We think we will.”

 _Gods_ , they’re so in love that it’s gross, but Ezran is _ecstatic._ His own smile is so wide that his face hurts, and there’s a part of him that honestly thinks he might cry. “You _guys_ ,” he manages, voice hoarse with happiness as he throws his arms around them both a second time.

Behind him, he hears Aunt Amaya and Commander Gren get out of their chairs, and Ezran pulls away from them, massaging his cheeks as he goes.

For a moment, he’s nervous - but he reminds himself that Aunt Amaya has been a better sport about this than anyone. She’d given Rayla a chance, like she promised she would; had given Callum that final push, despite her misgivings about their relationship; and she looks at the two of them now and smiles as she gives them her blessing.

“Our congratulations to you both,” says Gren on her behalf. “We’re very happy for you.”

Rayla pauses, looking between them with a frown. “‘ _We’_?”

 _Yes_ , signs Amaya. _I… still don’t entirely approve_ , she admits, _but Callum is happiest with you, and, frankly, a complete mess without. I’ve seen that for myself now. You have my blessing._

“Aunt Amaya!” Callum laughs, untangling himself from Rayla to give his Aunt a grateful hug. His grin is so wide and so pleased that Ezran can’t help it - he joins in too, overjoyed that his family - his _whole_ family - his aunt, and his brother, and his soon-to-be sister-in-law - can be in the same room and share in each other’s joy.

It’s a better outcome than he could ever have imagined, and he laughs with them, happy for his brother and Rayla; hopeful for the future of their respective people; and vindicated in the fact that their marriage isn’t such a bad idea after all.

 

x

 

It’s a good afternoon, thinks Callum. Lunch becomes more of a private celebration of the their engagement filled with wine and cheese and pastries, and when they’re done, he and Rayla decide it might be worth making one more visit to _The Wishbone_ to thank Ailas and his family, and Soren and Claudia for putting up with them.

Ez gives them invites for the ball to give to them, and when they get there, Soren’s running the shop for the day. Ailas, he tells them, is upstairs balancing the books. Claudia and Lessa are both with Eleni on her final appointment with the midwife before the baby.

“You’re doing it then?” Soren asks them, looking pleased.

“Yeah,” says Callum, grinning like the idiot that he is. “I should have listened to you. To everyone.”

“No offense, but yeah.” Soren snorts at him. To Rayla, he adds, “Should I be telling everyone to start calling you Princess Rayla over Lady Rayla then?”

Rayla scowls, looking repulsed by the title. “Call me that and I will personally make sure that not even magic lets you walk again.”

“It’s true though,” he says, his voice teasing, an exaggerated simper on his lips. He jerks his head at Callum. “If you’re gonna marry _him_ , you’ll be a _princess_.”

“Shut up.”

“What’s Lessa going to call you if she can’t call you _Princess Rayla_?”

“Guys,” laughs Callum. He puts the invites on the counter and slides them towards Soren just as Ailas appears at the foot of the stairs. “Ez is making a formal announcement at a ball he’s hosting in a couple of days. He’s trying to promote peaceful celebrations between elves and humans by having them a couple of times a year, I think, which is… fitting.” Callum wrinkles his nose, wondering how long, exactly, Ez has had this in mind. He shakes his head. “In any case, we want all of you to come.”

“A ball, you say?” says Ailas, picking at an invitation to examine the details on its front. “I’m sure we can make an appearance. Congratulations by the way.” He grins at them both.

“I suppose you’re not surprised at all,” says Rayla pointedly.

“Not in the least.” Ailas smirks. “An elven Princess of Katolis. These will be interesting times indeed.”

“I will hurt you both.”

“I’m being serious, Rayla,” says Ailas. He glances between them, smiling almost wistfully at the arm Callum has around Rayla’s waist. “You know how hard it is to be here. You know there are people who won’t take this lightly. Are you sure you’re both ready for the storm coming your way? From both sides?”

“We’ve done worse,” asserts Rayla. Her confidence is comforting, and Callum smiles and presses one more kiss into her hair. “They’ll learn, right?”

Ailas’ smile becomes a grin, proud of her conviction - of her - of _them_. “Yes, they will,” he says. “You’ll teach them.”

 

x

 

It’s an almost perfect day - the morning with his beloved, the afternoon with his family, the early evening with their friends. Callum had known since he was a child that his marriage would be arranged eventually, but there was no way he could have predicted being so _happy_ about it. Ez had been right - about him, and about Rayla - about _everything_ , and as complicated and as political as it’s going to be, he knows with an absolute certainty that it’s all going to be okay.

How could it not be? He’s got Rayla.

It’s not until they get back to the castle that night that the earliest signs of the coming storm make themselves apparent.

They’re in the entrance hall. Admittedly, Callum could probably ease up on his displays of affection, but what can he say? They’re newly engaged, and obviously in love, and they’ve had a mess of a time figuring it out - it’s a perfectly reasonable thing to want to be touching her every opportunity he has - at least until Balan appears at the entrance of the West Wing, looking sullen and disgusted at the way he’s clutching her hand in his.

“My Prince,” says Balan, bowing. “If I may -”

“You may not,” says Callum shortly, the bliss in his system turning quickly into irritation. He tugs Rayla closer. “You’re in our way, General.”

Balan scowls. “This is marriage is wrong, My Prince. You know that it is. You cannot proceed with this union.”

Callum smirks, despite himself. “Here’s a question for you, Balan: didn’t His Majesty, the King, formally warn you about the consequences of coming near Her Ladyship again?”

Balan pales a little, but he stands his ground. “Your Highness, I -”

“You’re near her. Please move.”

“ _Your Highness,_ ” he snarls. “You must understand - I think you’re making a mistake -”

Callum shakes his head, and he releases Rayla just for a moment in order to jab a finger against Balan’s breastplate. “I really don’t care what you think,” he snaps. “You undermined my brother at every opportunity; you summoned my Aunt in an attempt to interfere with a marriage that’s _literally_ only just been arranged; and you _repeatedly,_ I’m told, approached and offended an elven ambassador in a bid to force her to leave. I am your Prince, and an Archmage. You know what I’m capable of. Don’t tempt me.”

“But - Your Highness -”

“This isn’t a joke, Balan.”

“Callum.” A hand touches his elbow, and Callum’s anger leaves him in a rush.

Rayla tugs him back, her jaw set, but with something like pity in her eyes. Balan’s not even worth it, he realizes. He’s a sad old man who has no concept of what it means to love as truly and as deeply as they do, and Rayla’s tired and just wants to go to bed.

He slips his hand into hers again and squeezes, a smile returning to his lips as he does so. “Move, Balan,” he says, without looking at him. “You’re in our way.”

“Your Highness -”

“ _Move._ I won’t ask you again. _”_

Balan scowls, but he does with no further argument, and Callum tugs Rayla past without so much as another glance at him.

She waits until they’re in the safety of his room before she asks. “Are you really sure you want to put up with _that_ for the rest of your life?”

Callum shrugs, whatever feelings of contempt he might still have disappearing as he pulls her close.“I’d put up with that _and more_ , if it means waking up every morning with you.” He smiles at her and steals a kiss. “You’ll be royalty soon anyway. What’s he gonna do?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ONE AND A HALF MORE, TEAM!!!!!!


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m not backing out.” Her voice is firm as she ducks forward to press a quick kiss onto his lips. “I’m with you. No matter what.”

xxii.

 

 

Rayla has one dress that she keeps folded neatly in the bottom of Callum’s pack for the rare occasion that she actually needs it, but she tries it on to show Claudia the morning of the ball and Claudia grimaces. Admittedly, it’s an old dress - she’d picked it up from a little Xadian town a couple of years ago at Callum’s insistence (“You’re an ambassador now, what if we have to go to, like, formal things?”). It’s a little wrinkled, and she’s worn it a handful of times since, but it’s still _mostly_ nice. Aesthetically, it’s simple; just a cowl neck column dress in traditional Moonshadow colours - nothing too fancy, but fancy _enough_ pass for an ambassador’s gown. Practically, she thinks it’s annoying, but it’s light enough to move in and the cowl comes low enough around the back that she can still have her weapons on her if she feels she really needs them.

In hindsight, she probably should have thought about laying it out earlier than today - at least then, she might have been able to get the wrinkles out, but between the mess that was figuring things out with Callum, and the stress of dealing with Balan, this… _Unity Ball_ thing that Ez wants to hold was the _last_ thing Rayla had on her mind, and even _now_ , it’s hard to care.

Claudia’s grimace, however, doesn’t go unnoticed. “What’s _that_ face for?”

Claudia purses her lips, scrunching her nose at creases in the skirt. “It’s just… I feel like it’s time for something new.”

“What’s wrong with this one?”

“Nothing,” says Claudia earnestly, although the grimace doesn’t really budge. “I just - I think it passes for an ambassador’s gown, but the thing is you’re not _just_ an ambassador anymore. You’ll be a princess soon.”

Rayla scowls at her. “We talked about this.”

“A title’s a title, Rayla, you won’t _not_ be a princess just because we don’t say it.” Claudia rolls her eyes at her good-naturedly, amused smile playing at her lips. “Look,” she says, her smile falling just a little, “I know we haven’t been friends for that long, but I feel like you should trust me on this. I don’t doubt that you know how to deal with nobility but once Ez makes that announcement, they’ll be watching you like hawks. I mean that’d happen to _anyone_ if they had to marry Callum, but again, you’re not _just anyone._ You’ll be the first elven Princess of Katolis. People like Balan are going to be _waiting_ for you to slip up, and this ball is where it starts.”

“Very encouraging, thank you.” Rayla groans, hitching her skirt above her ankles with a grimace to kick the chair out from under that desk she doesn’t use. She slumps into it, pouting like a child, bare feet propped up on the corner of the bed while Claudia smooths out her surcoat. It’s true and she knows it. They’re already under scrutiny and there are only five or six people who know about it. She can’t even imagine the kind of scrutiny they’ll be under once it’s public knowledge. “What do you propose then?”

Claudia purses her lips. “Well…” she starts, “there _is_ something you can try on… in the back of _The Wishbone._ ”

Rayla stares at her. “Are you kidding me.”

“We’ve been plotting this for weeks, you didn’t seriously think we _wouldn’t_ be prepared on the off chance that things _might_ work out the way we intended, did you?” Claudia offers her a sheepish grin, shoulders lifting in a sort-of shrug that makes Rayla wonder how many _other_ details they’d gone to the trouble of _preparing_ for. She holds up her hands. “I totally understand if you don’t want to,” she says quickly. “I didn’t want to bring it up because… well, Ez and I have meddled enough. But… if you _wanted_ to…”

Rayla sighs, picking at the wrinkled chiffon of her skirt. The first time she’d worn it, Callum had turned into a grinning, spluttering mess who’d probably been a little _too_ proud to have her on his arm considering they were ‘ _just friends’_ at the time. The colours aren’t so bright now, the material rougher against her fingers, the silver edging beginning to fray in a way that can’t really be ignored. When it comes down to it, Claudia’s right - this announcement will be the beginning of what will probably be a _long_ year, fraught with scrutiny from _both_ sides of the border. She might as well be as prepared for it as she can be. “If you tell me you’ve got a wedding dress down there too, I swear to the Moon and Stars, Claudia, you and I are going to have a _serious_ talk about privacy but… fine. Show me the thing.”

Claudia laughs at her, hopping off the bed to let her change. “There’s no wedding dress, I promise. But I have a good feeling about this. I’ll be outside when you’re ready.”

 

x

 

The day passes in a hurry. Callum spends most of it getting a new suit tailored. He’s grown a few inches since he last needed to dress up, and the sleeves of his old dress coat are short enough on him now that it’s difficult to hide. He’d left it too late - _far_ too late - and despite his compliance, Callum knows the royal tailor resents him a little for it. The sun is already low in the sky, the decorations are hung and the lamps are lit, the castle is _spotless_ , and he’s still here, getting the finishing touches done on his suit. He feels a little guilty for it but it’s been a heck of a fortnight, and he’s honestly just glad it’s coming to a close.

The new coat is scarlet, like his old one, but where his old was embellished in maroon, this one decorated in gold. It’s a beautiful for a day’s work, and Callum makes a quiet note to thank the tailor with a bottle of wine or something once this is all over and done with. “Sorry again for the late notice,” he mutters, probably for the eighth time today when out of the corner of his eye, he catches Ezran slip into the room.

“Almost done?”

“ _Almost,”_ grumbles the tailor, and Callum chuckles awkwardly and mutters a ninth apology.

Ezran snorts. He’s dressed already, his crown polished, his own coat sharp. It makes Callum grin a little. His brother is only thirteen, but he has the grace and the propriety of a gentleman and a King that Callum absolutely did _not_ have at the same age. He wishes their father were here to see him, or their mother here to dote. They’d be proud of him, Callum’s sure of it, but the thought fades as Ez crosses the room.

He holds out a box. Callum recognizes it immediately, his breath hitching in his throat.

“Is that -”

“Mom’s ring?” There’s something sad in Ezran’s smile, but he puts the box into Callum’s pocket anyway, his eyes shining with hope and happiness and pride. “I found it in Dad’s stuff. I think she’d want Rayla to have it. She would have liked her.”

“She would have,” murmurs Callum, just as the tailor steps away. He tests the fit of his jacket, and his slacks, and, pleased, he thanks the tailor (profusely, and with a tenth apology) before he follows Ez out of the room. His hand goes straight to his pocket, his fingers running over the polished wood of his mother’s old ring box, his thumb pausing at the bronze latch.

“I’m sorry I had to ask you guys to do it like this,” says Ez quietly. “I think… maybe, if I’d left you two alone for long enough, you would have gotten there on your own and you could have had something a little quieter.”

Callum snorts. “If you’d left us alone, I might not have gotten there at all,” he says, waving him off. He takes the box from his pocket and opens it with a grin. It hardly looks like a ring fit for a queen - it’s just a gold band, curved to a point at the front, a delicate filigree engraved into the metal. Their mother had always preferred practicality over aesthetic - she and Rayla are alike in that way, and, if she were alive today, he thinks Ez would be right - she _would_ have liked her. He shuts the box. “Seriously Ez. Thank you. For this, too.” He brandishes the box at him before he pockets it once more.

“You can still back out,” says Ez. “You don’t _have_ to get married for politics. You can go and just get it done in secret or something if you want to avoid all of… _this_.”

Callum shakes his head. “Don’t think we don’t know what we don’t know what we’re getting into here. We know. Well and truly. But whatever’s coming - we can take it, as long as we’re together. That’s the whole point of this marriage thing, right?” He chuckles at his brother and musses his hair gently, careful not to mess it up too much.

They’re in the entrance hall now. There are people milling around in the ballroom already, the murmur of their voices muffled only by the closed oak doors. Callum straightens his jacket. “How do I look?”

“Pretty dashing, if I do say so myself,” he hears Rayla say, and Callum turns and feels his breath leave him entirely when he spots her on her way down the stairs.

Claudia’s with her, but he hardly sees her. Vaguely, he hears her mutter something to Ezran before she slips into the ballroom to join Soren and the rest of their friends, but Callum’s attention is on Rayla and Rayla alone. Her hair is in a braid again, more elaborate than last time, with little gold flowers woven into the silver, but he doesn’t recognize her dress. It's certainly not the one she keeps in his pack - this one is newer and prettier; an off-the-shoulder sheath, green as always, with gold lace in the bodice and an attached chiffon cape that follows her down the stairs like mist rolling off her shoulders.

“You look beautiful,” he breathes, his grin wide and dazed.

“Thank you,” murmurs Rayla, her cheeks pink as she smiles shyly at her feet. Callum takes the opportunity to press a kiss onto her forehead, which only makes her laugh and blush more. She glances at Ezran and pauses when she notices the grimace on his face. “What’s wrong?”

Ez huffs. “You... may not need an announcement,” he says with a scowl.

Callum blinks at him. “What?”

“Sounds like someone let something slip,” grumbles Ez. “Nothing we can do about it now. Are you guys ready?”

“I don’t think we really have a choice anymore,” mutters Rayla. She steadies herself and takes Callum’s arm. “Let’s do this.”

 

x

 

There’d been talk of a betrothal long before the ball had even opened - Claudia had heard it whispered between guards and scullery maids and the heads of the lesser families on her way to see Rayla this morning. They were just rumours, she’d told herself, and with the way Callum and Rayla had been behaving over the last day or two, she shouldn’t really have been surprised. But the talk has only grown louder since, and it was fine when it just sounded like rumours, but there are details about it now that puts Claudia on edge. It buzzes in her ears the way flies might, and the elven dignitaries that are present today look a little perturbed by the news.

“You humans can’t ever keep anything to yourselves, can you?” says Ailas mildly.

“And you elves can’t ever not be on your high horses,” sneers Claudia.

Ailas raises an eyebrow at her, and she relents.

“Sorry,” she mumbles, taking a breath. “That was uncalled for. I’m just… nervous for them.”

“They’ll be nervous enough on their own, I think,” says Eleni gently. “But they’ll be okay. They’ve dealt with worse than rumours before.”

“This _isn’t_ a rumour, though,” says Claudia, wringing her hands so much that Soren actually passes Lessa to her in a bid to keep her still. “They know too much. It’s… like someone’s told them.”

He snorts at her and jerks his head towards the front of the ballroom. “Three guesses who.”

Claudia frowns, craning her neck to look over the crowd before she spots him - Balan, smirking into his wine as he listens to the chatter. She scowls. “That _bastard._ ”

 

x

 

Rayla feels the stares land on them immediately, from the elven emissaries on the right side of the ballroom, and from the human ambassadors on the left. For what it’s worth, having both sets of dignitaries in the same room without hearing them shouting over each other is a pleasant change, and while none of the looks they receive are openly hostile, there’s still a lot of distrust between their people and fact that they’re staring at all puts her on edge.

To their left, the present citizens of Katolis bow to Ezran and Callum as they pass.

To their right, the various parties of elven dignitaries watch, their faces hard and apprehensive.

Rayla swallows, her grip on Callum’s arm tightening just slightly before Ez clears his throat and the buzz dies down entirely.

“Welcome everyone!” he greets cheerfully, in spite of the spark of animosity in the air. “Welcome especially to our friends from Xadia! We’re so happy to have you here with us tonight! Please make yourselves at home - we have plenty to share with you, and I hope we all enjoy tonight’s Unity Ball, the first of what I hope will be many celebrations of peace and prosperity between our two nations. While I do have an important announcement to make, it can wait until later tonight, so for now, please - eat, drink, be merry - I hope you enjoy tonight’s ball.”

He’s answered by polite applause, mostly from the human side of the ballroom. The elven emissaries still look a little uneasy, but Ezran waves his hand, and the band starts up again, the chatter filling the room until it’s humming in Rayla’s ears.

“Hey.”

She almost jumps, but it’s just Callum, loosening her fingers from the grip she has on his arm. She does it for him, releasing the sleeve of his coat with a sharp gasp. She hadn’t realized how tense she’d become.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“Sorry,” mumbles Rayla. She picks Ailas out of the crowd easily; the only elf happily intermingling on the human side of the ballroom, Eleni on his right with a hand on her belly, Soren on his left in his old armour with his hand on the pommel of his sword like a warning to the less open-minded. Claudia’s with them now too, her eyes apprehensive as she bounces Lessa in her arms.

There are delegates here from everywhere tonight, many of whom Rayla and Callum have met  personally on their travels throughout Xadia and the Pentarchy, but it’s the delegate of Moonshadow elves in the corner that get to her. They watch her and Callum without even trying to look surreptitious, their faces hard and uneasy about the way she’s standing so close to him. She’s had those looks before but it’s worse coming from her own people.

She tries to shrug it off.

In all fairness, they’ve come a long way. Three years ago, a gathering like this would have been unfathomable, but there’s still distrust in the air, and more than that, there’s a sort of... suspicion that makes Rayla wonder exactly how much they know.

Callum steps closer purposefully, his fingers finding hers. “I’m scared too,” he murmurs.

“How are you dealing with it?”

“Easy,” he says. “I’m with you.” He offers her a grin. It’s nervous, but it’s catching, and he lifts her fingers to his lips in full view of everyone and places a kiss against her knuckles. “Do you wanna dance?”

Rayla hesitates, but they’re staring already, and they’ll keep staring anyway, especially after Ezran makes the announcement. If Callum can deal with it by focussing on her, then she can do the same for him. “Sure,” she says at last. “I’d love to dance.”

 

x

 

They’re halfway through it when they’re interrupted the first time. It’s one of the Moonshadow elves, Theodyn, Callum thinks his name is, a delegate from Rayla’s hometown - and he looks over his nose at them, his eyes unreadable. “Your Highness,” he greets with a bow, his voice icy. “And Rayla. Or perhaps I should call you  ‘ _My Lady’_?”

“I’d prefer if you didn’t,” says Rayla shortly. “What can we do for you, Theodyn?”

“I was only going to ask if I could cut in.”

Rayla snorts. “Let’s not pretend that you don’t know I’m spoken for.”

“So the rumours are true then.” Theodyn pauses to study them both. “Do your uncles know?”

Rayla has nothing to say to that. She looks away from him, and from Callum, her hands dropping to her sides.

“That’s enough now,” says Callum sharply, stepping between them. “With all due respect, Theodyn, I think you’re bothering my intended.”

Theodyn pauses a second time. He studies Callum uneasily, but not, Callum notes, unhappily, and in the end, he steps back. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” Theodyn tells them. “Both of you. Other elves will not be so kind. My congratulations to the two of you.” He bows once more and turns on his heel, but not before Rayla calls after him.

“Theodyn,” she starts. “Who told you?”

Theodyn purses his lips. “There were rumours,” he says. “But I did hear one of your Generals discussing it. That one there.” He jerks his head at someone behind them, and when Callum turns, he finds Balan talking quietly to King Florian of Del Bar. “Enjoy your evening.”

When he’s gone, Callum finds his arm going straight to Rayla’s waist, because he knows what’s on her mind, and the atmosphere in the ballroom is delicate enough. He pulls her back to him, even as she resists, even as her eyes harden and her jaw clenches, but he puts her hand back in his and starts swaying again before she can do anything else. “Rayla,” he whispers. “Rayla - Ray, come on, it’s okay. It’s okay. He’ll get what’s coming to him.”

“That _son of a -_ ”

“Rayla. Look at me.” His hands go to her cheeks, and he presses a quick kiss to her nose to calm her. She stills in his arms, and Callum sighs and shoots a glare at Balan over her shoulder. “You know what this is. You know he’s doing. He’s trying to provoke you into doing something reckless, or into backing out of this. You know it.”

“I do,” she snaps. “But _gods_ , Callum, he’s done enough -”

“I know.” He kisses her nose once more. “Take a breath. It’s okay.”

 

x

 

Theodyn is only the first of many, _many_ warnings disguised thinly as congratulations from both her own people _and_ Callum’s, and when Rayla reminds herself that Ezran hasn’t even made a formal announcement, she retreats to the back corner of the ballroom for some space, only to find Lessa and Eleni have beaten her to it.

“Lady Rayla!” greets Lessa happily.

Tired as she is, Rayla crouches over to grin at her. “My Lady,” she says with a little bow. “Are you enjoying the party?”

“It’s kinda boring,” admits Lessa, but she giggles anyway and grabs Rayla’s fingers with her little hands. “I think Momma’s tired.”

“She is tired,” says Eleni with a chuckle. She’s seated in one of the cushioned chaise lounges, one hand at that small of her back, the other rubbing carefully at her belly. “In hindsight, I shouldn’t have come. It’s getting a bit soon for the baby.”

Rayla grimaces on her behalf. “Can I do anything for you?”

“Not particularly - although if you’d like to distract Lessa for a while, I wouldn’t say no.” She chuckles a little and rolls her shoulders as Lessa tries to tug herself up and onto Rayla’s lap. “We found out who told everyone.”

“So did we,” mutters Rayla darkly. “If it weren’t such a crime to make a scene at a formal event, I might have murdered him already.”

“I’m glad that you _haven’t_ .” Eleni gives her a look. “You know what’s at stake, My Lady. Believe me, I know what it’s like to _want_ to hurt him, but any harm to him from _you_ won’t help. It’s an honest miracle His Majesty managed to get a gathering of this size to begin with.”

“I wasn’t serious.” Rayla huffs. “What’d he do to you that made _you_ want to hurt him?”

She scoffs. “He tried to have me dismissed from His Majesty’s Crownguard when he found out about Ailas. And then again when I fell pregnant under the excuse that I wouldn’t be able to protect His Majesty adequately in my condition. His Majesty wasn’t convinced, obviously - and unfortunately for Balan, the Crownguard doesn’t fall under his command.”

Rayla makes a face at her, disgusted by the thought. “He’s a real piece of work, isn’t he?”

“He’s been at court for too long,” Eleni tells her. “Court is a game, My Lady, and there’s no way to play it but dirty. His tricks don’t work on King Ezran anymore, but you should be warned - he’s planning something else. He’s going to provoke you. He’ll say things to start a scandal - to force you to act on that impulse because it’s the easiest way to demonstrate that this arrangement won’t work. _Don’t_ rise to it. Whatever he does. You know how fragile this peace is.”

“Yeah,” grumbles Rayla, because she does know - it’s everything they’ve worked for, and she knows reacting to anything Balan might do or say might unravel it all in one go. She sighs and heaves Lessa into her arms. “I suppose I’ll take this little one for now then. Let you have some peace and quiet.”

“Thank you,” says Eleni, sounding relieved. “And remember - whatever he does - whatever he _says_ \- don’t react.”

“I won’t,” promises Rayla, hitching a giggling Lessa onto her hip and stalking back into the crowd.

 

x

 

Callum finds her by the balcony dancing with Lessa, the loose material of her dress swishing gently at her feet. She’s pretty in the dim light, and if this is a glimpse of his future, then Callum decides that it’s beautiful and bright and _so_ worth whatever storm is coming their way. “There you are,” he says, grinning at them both. “I thought you’d run off for a second.”

“And leave you here to deal with all this by yourself?” Rayla snorts into Lessa’s hair. “You wanna dance with Prince Callum, little one?”

Lessa puffs up her cheeks thoughtfully. “Can’t we all dance together?”

“I think we can do that,” laughs Callum. He puts his hand against Lessa’s back and eases her little one out of Rayla’s fingers to make room for his own. It’s a bit awkward, but it makes Rayla smile, and that alone is more than enough reason to keep doing it. “Are you okay?” he adds quietly.

“Fine,” mutters Rayla, adjusting her grip on Lessa. “I’m just… frustrated.”

“Ah.” Callum doesn’t ask any more beyond that. He knows whats on her mind, so instead, he tugs her closer to lead her through a lazy waltz. They’re dancing - all three of them - when they’re interrupted a second time.

It’s Queen Aanya of Duren this time, and she tilts her head curiously at Lessa as Callum and Rayla come to a stop. “Who might this be?” she asks.

“Queen Aanya,” greets Callum, bowing. He takes Lessa from Rayla so she can curtsey a little easier. “Your Majesty, this is Lessa - our friends’ daughter. Say hi to Queen Aanya, Chicken.”

Lessa buries her face against his shoulder, golden eyes peering hesitantly at Queen Aanya through the spaces of her fingers.

“She’s not usually so shy,” chuckles Callum. “Are you enjoying the ball?”

“I am,” she says with a smile. She’s always been one of the more open-minded monarchs of the Pentarchy. In some ways, she reminds Callum of Ezran and when she studies them, she does so curiously. There’s no animosity in her gaze; no distrust as she looks Rayla up and down. “You look lovely, My Lady,” she adds. “I hope you don’t mind my asking but… are the rumours true?”

“Depends on what the rumours are,” says Rayla drily. “What do you think, Your Majesty?”

Aanya’s lips twitch, amused. “I think… that you’re both being very brave,” she says quietly. “Whether the rumours are true or not. I’d like to think that some of them might be - you’re very good together, despite what certain… _Generals_ might be saying.”

“Of course,” snorts Callum. “Thank you, Your Majesty. That means a lot.”

Aanya nods at them, her smile genuine. “I wish you both the best. And I mean that. Enjoy your night.”

“Your Majesty,” calls Rayla, as she takes her leave. “My apologies, but - if I might ask - what _has_ General Balan been saying?”

“Not anything nice,” says Aanya. “He’s been calling you a -” She pauses. “I’d really rather not say. If you ask me, he’s been rather unprofessional about everything. I’d hate to have someone like him on my Council - I hope Ezran finds a reason to replace him.”

“Don’t we all?” scoffs Rayla. “Have a good evening, Your Majesty.”

 

x

 

Rayla makes a bee line for Soren and Claudia almost as soon as the conversation is over, only vaguely aware of the way Callum trails after her with Lessa in his arms. “Spill it,” she snaps when she finds them. “What, _exactly,_ has Balan been telling people? What’s he calling me behind my back?”

Claudia blanches. “The people that matter don’t believe any of it,” she says quickly. “And those that do… well, there was always going to be some resistance but -”

“ _Claudia._ ”

“He’s been calling you a whore,” Soren tells her. He looks resigned, and he leans heavily on his cane as he says it, his old armour glinting weakly in the orange light. “Sorry,” he adds. “He - he’s trying to convince people that you seduced Callum. Apparently people saw him finding Moon Tea for you the other day. I mean, what a load of bull, right?”

She must have a tell or something - or maybe Callum does - but the next thing she knows is Claudia gasping behind her hands, and if she wasn’t blushing at the idea of being caught out, she definitely is _now_ . She’s not even really sure why she’s surprised - she’d been certain, that day, that there was no way Balan _wouldn’t_ find out, but knowing for sure is different entirely.

“You _didn’t_.”

“Does it matter?” hisses Rayla. She glances around the ballroom and spots him standing in the corner by the band, watching them with a smirk and a raised wine glass. “I’m going to _kill_ him.”

“Rayla -” Callum steps in her way, Lessa at his knees clutching his fingers. “Rayla, it’s not worth it -”

“Oh, I _really_ think it will be.”

“ _Rayla._ ” He glances at Claudia and Soren for help, or for them to at least take Lessa for a minute so he might be able to keep her from rising to Balan’s taunts. He’s angry too, she can see it, but at this moment in time, his concern is for her. “He’s baiting you, Rayla, come on.”

She scowls at him. “What, is it supposed to be like this _forever_ ?” she snaps. “People like Balan are going to insult me at every opportunity and I’m just supposed to grin and bear it? I’m running out of patience for this, Callum, you can’t _seriously_ expect me to take this lying down.”

“I expect you to trust me,” mutters Callum. “That’s all.” His hands come to rest on her shoulders, his thumbs rubbing gentle circles into her skin in a bid to soothe her anger. “He _wants_ you to react to this. _Do not_ give him that satisfaction. It’s not worth it.”

“Anyone that matters doesn’t care, Rayla,” adds Claudia quietly. “The other monarchs of the Pentarchy agree more with Ezran than they do with him, and he’s too much of a coward to actually approach the elves that are even here. He’s relying on rumours, and on you reacting to those rumours to get his way. You _know_ that.”

Rayla does. It’s a game to him, and she keeps Eleni’s words in her mind as she wills herself to keep her calm. _Don’t rise to it,_ she tells herself. _Don’t rise to it. Don’t rise to it._ “You’re right,” she mutters finally. “You both are. I just… need some air.”

She turns on her heel without another word and storms away before they can stop her.

 

x

 

“There’s gotta be something we can do to shut him up,” mutters Claudia darkly. “She’s one more insult away from _rightfully_ attacking him, but if she does, she’ll be playing right into his hands.”

Callum groans because she’s right, but he’s been around court politics long enough to know that they don’t have a lot of options. She has every reason to be mad _and more_ , and he worries a little that Rayla’s fears might have some substance to them. She’s not made to sit still and look pretty by his side, she’s made for action, and if their marriage removes her agency and her ability to act, he’d rather not be married at all - only _that’s_ playing into Balan’s hands too.

“I’ll go and talk to her,” he grumbles. It’s all he _can_ do, really.  “Just… mention it to Ezran, if you can find him. And if you hear anything else, shut it down.”

“You got it, step-prince,” says Soren, offering him a mock salute. He ushers Lessa back to him and steps backwards into the crowd.  “Good luck with your fiancee - feels like you might need it.”

 

x

 

He spots her on the balcony. “Lessa,” he whispers, crouching over. He draws a rune in the air, Lessa’s eyes alight with wonder as he does so, and conjures a Moon lily in his hands. “You wanna give that to Lady Rayla? I think she could use some cheering up.”

Lessa nods eagerly, taking the lily by the stem with tiny fingers. She toddles off, happy to be helping in whatever way she can, and Callum watches her; waits until she presents it to Rayla with a flourish, and until Rayla’s smiling again before he joins them out on the balcony. He relishes the cool air as it settles in his lungs. It’s a relief to be out here, away from prying eyes and distasteful gossip - he can only imagine how it must feel for her.

“I’m sorry about all this,” he mutters, leaning back against the railing. “We don’t have to do it, you know. There’s still time to back out.”

“I’m not backing out,” says Rayla sourly. “I’m just tired.”

“You seem a little more than that.” Callum hops up to sit against the railing and lifts a hand to brush a stray lock of silver out of her eyes. Their violet is brighter out here - there’s a vibrance in them that really only shows in the moonlight - but it makes it easier to see the trouble in them too. On her other side, Lessa stands up on her toes to peer over the balcony railing, and Rayla sets an absent hand on her head to keep an eye on her without having to look.

“I just… I wish I could do _something_ ,” she admits at last. “Because if I do nothing, Balan wins, and if I rise to it, he wins, and if I back out, he wins.”

“He’s definitely smarter than we gave him credit for, I’ll give him that.” Callum scowls to himself, because watching people insult her and talk about her behind her back and _knowing_ she can’t do anything about it is just as frustrating to him. It’s pathetic. She’s an easy target here - an elf thrown into the deep end of human politics, and while he does get (arguably) worse in Xadia, at least there, he can _do_ something about it. Here, she’s forced to sit and listen to it because anything _she_ does in a human court might start another war. He heaves a sigh. “It’s just a different way of fighting, Rayla,” he says finally. “That’s what court politics _are_. It’s just sneakier.”

“Well, for the record, it’s awful,” she mutters. “But I can deal with it. I’ve dealt with worse.”

“You have,” says Callum, smiling at her. “We’ll think of a way to get him back. We _will_. We just have to be patient about it.” He eases the lily from her fingers and tucks it behind her ear, grinning at the way she giggles as his fingers brush against her face. “What do you say to one more dance? I’d like to have at least one with you without being interrupted.”

“With me too, Prince Callum?” pipes Lessa.

Callum laughs. “Of course! We’d never forget you!” He ducks around to Rayla’s other side, hoisting Lessa into his arms with a grin. “What do you think, Rayla? One more dance with me and this sweet little chicken?”

Rayla lets out a little chuckle, her eyes considerably less strained as she takes Callum’s hand. “One more,” she says, as he tugs her to him.

He counts them into a real waltz this time, enjoying the way Rayla laughs as he twirls her, and the way Lessa giggles she twirls him too, and she’s feeling a lot better, he thinks, when he considers interrupting them himself when remembers the ring in his pocket. He doesn’t get the chance though, because Ezran strides through the balcony doors with nervous grin on his face to interrupt them instead.

“Are you guys ready?” he asks.

Callum catches the hesitation flash in Rayla’s eyes, and, to be quite frank, no, he’s not ready yet, and between this and facing the crowd, he’d much rather just keep dancing with Rayla. He shakes his head at his brother. “Not yet,” he says stubbornly. “We’re busy.”

Ez’s lips twitch. “Right,” he says, a gentle smile on his features. “Lessa, you wanna go and find your mom?”

Lessa nods eagerly, struggling out of Callum’s arms as he sets her down. Ezran takes her tiny hand in his and grins at them. “Don’t be too long, okay?” he says. “It’s almost time.” He and Lessa disappear into the ballroom once more, and Callum sucks in a breath, determined to enjoy their last moments of peace and quiet before Ez makes the announcement and their privacy is ruined forever.

 _Almost time_.

The words make him nervous, and Callum loses track of the beats of their waltz until they’re just swaying together on the spot. “Last chance,” he murmurs, their faces close. “We still have time.”

“I’m not backing out.” Her voice is firm as she ducks forward to press a quick kiss onto his lips. “I’m with you. No matter what.”

He nods, taking in one last breath with her before she pulls away. Even the balcony doors look daunting to him now, but he squeezes Rayla’s hand, and together, they step back into the light.

 

x

 

Ez is already on the dais when they get there. He grins when he spots them, before he raises his goblet and clinks a spoon against the glass. The sound rings through the ballroom, and the chatter dies away only to be replaced by the sound of Callum’s heart hammering away in his throat.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Ez says to the crowd, “friends from Xadia, I have an announcement - although, from the what I’ve heard, most of you already know. ” The buzz ceases entirely, and Rayla’s fingers grip his tighter as her breath hitches in her throat. “Regardless, it is my utmost pleasure to announce the engagement of my brother, Prince Callum, to the esteemed -”

“Bah!”

Ezran blinks, and the crowd parts as Balan storms into the centre of the room. He looks outraged, but Callum can see the smirk in his eyes from all the way over here. Beside him, Rayla shuts her eyes tight, her fingers clutching his own even tighter still.

“This is a farce!”

“ _Don’t rise to it,_ ” Rayla murmurs to herself. “ _Don’t rise to it, don’t rise to it -_ ”

“Your Majesty,” says Balan. “I ask you before this gathering - I _implore_ you - do _not_ proceed with this. Do _not_ allow your brother to marry that elven _whore_.”

“That’s enough, Balan,” says Ez sharply, but even as Aunt Amaya makes a move towards him, but Balan holds out a hand.

“I will not be silenced,” he snarls. “The elf _seduced_ your brother into her bed, and gave him no choice - but _you_ can stop this, My King. That whore has no place here.”

“That’s _enough_ , Balan,” says Ez again. On the other side of the ballroom, the present elves look varying shades of disgusted and offended, but Balan’s still not done.

“My King, allow this, and you open your city to more of _them_ . Imagine, a human city overrun with elves and their spawn - and their _half-human_ spawn, like that abomination of a child that whore has been toting around all night. This _cannot_ occur. Your brother _cannot_ marry that _slut._ ”

Something within Callum snaps, and at the same time, he comes to a realization. _Rayla_ can’t do anything about this because an _elf_ attacking a human General of such high ranking might undo all their hard work. But Callum’s _human,_ and a _human_ shutting down another human on _behalf_ of an elf is a different thing altogether. It happens in slow motion: he releases Rayla’s hand, only vaguely registering the sound of her voice calling after him, strides across the ballroom with echoing, purposeful steps, and the next thing he knows is his fist making contact with Balan’s face.

The silence that follows is immediate.

Balan crumples to the ground. Pain shoots up his arm, his knuckles split, and Callum wrings his hand, blood running down his fist as he huffs. “ _Gods_ , that felt good.”

At Ezran’s other side, Aunt Amaya and Commander Gren stumble a little as they step off the dais, lifting Balan up by the pits of his arms as he stirs. Aunt Amaya gives him an impressed smirk as they drag him away, and when Rayla appears in his vision, she’s at his side, fretting over the blood on his knuckles.

The crowd is still staring, stunned, and Callum shushes her and presses a kiss to the back of her hand. “Sorry for the interruption, Ez.”

“Do you just want to take it from there?” Ezran offers weakly.

Callum shrugs, adrenaline coursing through his system. “Rayla and I are getting married,” he says to their guests. “Some of you may not agree with it but, honestly, we don’t care. I love her. She loves me. We think this is what’s best for us and for our two nations. Thank you and goodnight.” His sense returns to him as he waves. His fist feels like it’s on fire now, and there’s blood on his slacks and on his sleeves and on Rayla’s hands. Then he realizes there’s applause - it’s still a little stunned, but it’s coming from _both_ sides of the ballroom.

He flushes - beside him, Rayla flushes too - and together, they wave awkwardly as she ushers him back towards the balcony to take care of his hand.

“Sorry about him,” he mutters, when they get outside at last. He drops onto the stone bench in the corner with a sigh. “Sorry about not doing anything about it earlier. Ow, that hurts a lot now.”

“Don’t be such a baby,” says Rayla. She still sort of looks like she can’t believe what she saw, but the smile on her lips is impressed. She grimaces at the gash on his fist though - he'd probably nicked it on Balan's teeth or something - before she tears the end off her attached cape and she wraps the bit of material around his knuckles. “You’ve taken harder hits than that.”

“I don’t think I’ve _personally_ hit harder than that, though,” mutters Callum, wincing as she puts pressure on his fist. “And they say chivalry is dead.”

“It most certainly _isn’t_ ,” laughs Rayla. “Not after _that_ display. I mean, you shouldn’t have done it -”

“Yes, I should’ve.”

“ _Callum._ ”

He shakes his head. “He had it coming,” he says firmly. “You’re gonna be a _Princess_ , Rayla, _no one_ gets to talk about you, or to you like that. No one gets to talk about you like that even if you _weren't_ about to be a Princess. You can't tell me he didn't deserve it." He grins at her, pleased with his work. "I should’ve done it earlier. Here’s the best part, though - you know who else saw that?”

“Everybody in the bloody ballroom?”

“ _Everybody in the bloody ballroom.”_ Callum's grin grows wider. “Me, a human, punching another human in the face on behalf of you, an elf? That's gotta be worth some points, right? And it _should_ , theoretically, make it clear to everyone here that there’s more to this than politics.” He kisses her knuckles. “Oh, and just to make it clear between us -” He reaches into his pocket, grimacing as he goes, and fishes his mother’s ring box from it. “I meant to give this to you earlier, but it’s been… a busy night. I don’t know how elves do this, but the way humans do it, I’m supposed to give you a ring. This was my mom’s.”

Rayla stares at him, lips parted she’s forgotten how to breathe. “Callum,” she manages. “I - I can’t accept that -”

He chuckles, sliding off the stone bench and onto one knee, bandaged hand proffering the box to her. “I thought you might say that, but Ez and I have agreed. It’s yours now, if you'll have me."

“Are you seriously asking me to marry you with your mother's ring immediately after you punched someone in the face?”

"You said it yourself," he says pointedly. "Chivalry isn't dead."

She laughs, giddy and blushing under the moonlight, even as she takes the box from him to run a finger over the front of his mother’s ring. “I mean -” she giggles. “You _have_ to know how ridiculous this looks. Which finger would I even wear it on?”

“The last one, I think,” he says. “It’s the same finger as ours - you just don’t have the fifth one. Do you wanna put it on?”

She nods, words caught in her throat. “Do you want to do it for me?”

His grin widens still, and he takes her left hand in his and slips it on with a kiss. “Just to be clear, is that a yes?”

She laughs, hiding her face with her other hand, looking as if she doesn’t know if she wants to laugh or cry. “ _Yes_ , dummy. That’s a _yes._ ”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

x

 

Just before they leave for Xadia, Ezran summons them to the throne room to listen in on a hearing. “It’ll be quick,” he promises. “Ten minutes at the most. Then you guys can go.”

They agree, because technically they can leave whenever they want. Rayla’s taking Vorobey, and Ezran had told Callum that he’s more than welcome to take that mare he likes now that he’s more confident on a horse - Kuritsa, he’s told her name is - so the journey into Xadia this time around will be quicker and easier and there’s much less of a rush.

They take their places by him with a shrug, Callum and Rayla on Ezran’s right; Aunt Amaya on his left, and when the doors swing open, they find themselves blinking at the sight of Balan, bruised eye, bandaged nose, and flanked on either side by two of Ezran’s personal Crownguard.

“General Balan,” says Ez, his voice stony and regal. “Over the last two weeks, you undermined my authority, summoned my Aunt Amaya without my knowledge or consent, repeatedly approached and offended an elven emissary even after you were warned not to, disclosed information privy only to the royal family to a ballroom full of guests, and tried to disgrace and humiliate the future Princess of Katolis. How do you plead?”

Balan scowls at them - _all_ of them - his head held high even as they look down on him from the dais. “I was only doing what I believed was best for Katolis,” he mutters.

“What’s best for Katolis is not your decision to make,” says Ez. “Have you anything else to say for your actions?”

Balan pauses, but he eyes Callum carefully and ducks his head. “No, Your Majesty.”

“Good.” Ezran smirks. “You are dismissed from the Council. You are stripped of any and all titles you hold. You may keep your pension, but under the condition that I _don’t_ see you within my castle again. My Aunt Amaya will serve in your place until I can find a new Head of the Katolan Army. You may go.”

Balan pales, and he surges forward, only for the soldiers on either side of him to yank him back onto his knees. “But - Your Majesty -”

“You’re lucky that’s all,” says Ezran shortly. “You may go.” He catches Callum and Rayla’s eye from the corner of his and grins. “We have a wedding to plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One last after this, team!!! Thank you so much for putting up with me and getting me this far! I'm so excited to end this thing once and for all!


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s a small ceremony, all things considered.

xxiii.

 

_one year later_

 

It’s a small ceremony, all things considered.

Ez thinks that, if it were up to them, they’d have one smaller still - just the two of them and their closest friends and what’s left of both their families, but it’s not such a good look for the Prince of Katolis and their first elven Princess to steal away in the night and marry in secret. Their union is enough of a talking point as is, and they’re ambassadors before they’re anything else - he’d much rather they _didn’t_ have to deal with that sort of gossip at treaty signings and negotiations.

He stands by his brother as they say their vows.

Opeli binds their hands.

They kiss, and that’s that. They leave the Hall of Ceremonies as husband and wife, their smiles wide and their hands linked, even as Ezran presents them to the city for the first time as Prince and Princess of Katolis.

There’s nothing but joy out there today. Relations between the Pentarchy and Xadia are better than they’ve been in millenia. There are elves living happily in Katolis now, and there are humans being offered scholarships to study magic in the Xadian cities closest to the border. He won’t kid himself - there’s still resistance to this; to the idea that elves and humans might be able to live together in peace, and it took the better part of four years to even get this far, but the fact that they’re here at all is an honest miracle, and Ez has Callum and Rayla to thank for that.

He hopes they know how much of a difference they’ve made.

Most of all, he hopes they’re happy.

 

x

 

“Well, Ez, you did it,” says Callum later.

The evening is winding down, and the guests that are left are yawning in their chairs and drinking the last of their wine. It’s been a good night, and Callum is a little flushed from probably one too many glasses of alcohol, but he’s still smiling stupidly at his now-wife who’s laughing with her uncles and Commander Gren two tables down.

“I didn’t do much,” admits Ezran. “Most of this was you two. There’s no way we could have gotten this many elves and humans together in the same room if you and Rayla weren’t here to show them how.”

“Arguably, the people in this room already knew how,” Callum says. “And in any case, we probably wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t decided to arrange our marriage.”

“There was no obligation to actually do it,” says Ez pointedly. “You had every opportunity to back out, but you did it anyway. You chose this, and by doing it, the two of you became this example of everything the world should be. The future’s going to be amazing. You guys should be proud.”

“Again,” snorts Callum. “ _Your_ idea. But I’ll take some of that credit, if you’re _really_ that eager to share.”

Ezran laughs at him, and he sips at his own glass and grimaces at the taste. Wine takes some getting used to, he thinks, and he probably shouldn’t be drinking any of it at all, being so young, but it’s within the spirit of things and a couple of sips won’t hurt. “Don’t really get why anyone drinks this stuff,” he mutters aloud though. “It’s a little… bracing.”

“It’s an acquired taste,” chuckles Callum. “Don’t feel too bad. Rayla’s not drinking it either.”

“Why not?”

Callum pauses, his lips pressed together like he’d said something he wasn’t supposed to. He stares down at his drink for the longest time while Ez puts the pieces together in his head.

His eyes widen. His gut lurches. His lips pull into a grin so wide it hurts his face. “ _Shut up._ ”

“I didn’t say anything,” mumbles Callum, although he’s still staring at his drink like he’s been caught red-handed with his hand on a tray of jelly tarts.

“Who else knows?”

“There’s nothing to know.”

“Are you seriously telling me that if I went up to her right now and said -”

“ _Don’t.”_ There’s panic in Callum’s voice, and he’s about twice as red as he was when they started this conversation that there’s literally no other way to interpret the answer. Callum’s so flustered by it that Ezran has to take a second to make sure he doesn’t start laughing in his brother’s face. It’s hardly conventional - but then, nothing about them is, and in some ways, he’s not so surprised. He glances from Callum to Rayla and back again, watching the way his brother’s eyes soften at the sight of her, before he pats Callum’s shoulder and raises his glass.

“To you and Rayla, then,” he says happily.

Callum pauses. He studies his brother carefully, almost suspicious, but Ezran watches his eyes flit to Rayla once more, and in the end, he clinks his goblet against his with a smile. “To the future.”

  


the end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY CRAP ON A CRACKER, I FINISHED A FIC. YOU GUYS. I FINISHED A FIC!!! Like, I realize this is the cheesiest ending ever, but the idea was cheesy and I figure the best way to bring it home is to just load it on up with as much cheese as possible. Don’t pretend y’all didn’t want this. You’re here for a trashy arranged marriage fic. You're just as lame as me :p
> 
> THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH for all your encouragement and your comments and your kudos and God, this fic was such a team effort that I have an essay full of thanks over on my tumblr. 
> 
> In the case that you don’t hop over to go and read my notes and acknowledgements: THANK YOU. I COULD NOT HAVE DONE THIS WITHOUT YOU.
> 
> In the case that you do:  
> [here's the link!](http://jellyjay.tumblr.com/post/184250787296/a-delicate-arrangement-some-notes-and)
> 
> Thanks for everything team!!! Hope you had as much fun as I did!


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